.^«> 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


A 


1.0 


I.I 


us  Vi   12.2 


la    Si 
111 


1.8 


11.25  y||l.4   ill  1.6 


1 

j 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Coiporation 


■y 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series, 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


j^- 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


m 


D 
D 


D 


D 


n 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommag^e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pellicul6e 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  g^ographiques  en  jouleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 


C^    Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
y\\    along  interior  margin/ 


La  reliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  film6es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m6thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


I — I    Coloured  pages/ 


D 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxe( 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  matdriel  suppl^mentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


I — I  Pages  damaged/ 

I — I  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

I — I  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 

I      I  Pages  detached/ 

I      I  Showthrough/ 

I      I  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I  includes  supplementary  material/ 

I — I  Only  edition  available/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


26X 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


M 


24X 


28X 


32X 


■."■'■W«i^)t»"" 


lire 

details 
les  du 
modifier 
ler  une 
filmage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanlts 
to  the  generosity  of  : 

Library  of  Congress  ^  .v 

Photoduplication  Service 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications.  ^ 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rositd  de: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6X6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


6es 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  --►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


re 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
iliustrent  la  mdthode. 


y  errata 
)d  to 

nt 

ne  pelure, 

ipon  d 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

_ 

^  jBaniwffi^Wi'wwiw" 


^TVSti 


= 


Woi 


p.    ' 


THE  LILY 

OF  6/5'>'' 

SAN  MINIATO. 


r. 


Mrs.  0/  V.  HAMILTOIiPr 

AUTHOR  OF 

'  Woven  of  Many  Threads,"  "  Crown  from  the  Spear," 

Etc.,  Etc. 


*&i 


NEW   YORK: 
G.     "jy.    pARLETON     &■     Co.,     J^UBLISHEF^S. 


u 


THE 


NITED    STATE 


S 


LIFE 
INSURANCE  COMPANY, 

n  THB  OITT  OF  ISW  YORK, 
Aei,    »09,     »e3      BROA.D1VA.Y. 

OaOAMIZED   18SO. 


JAMES   BUELU 


President. 


ASSETS, 
SURPLUS, 


$4,846,032.64 
$800,000.00 


Bvery  approvd  /'orm  of  Tblito'  issued  on  most 
favorable  terms. 

ALL  ENDOWMENT  POLICIES  AND  APPROVED  CLAIMS 

MATURIMO    IN    1878 

w."  b.  DISCOUNTED  « -» 

on    fKnaSSTATION. 


HENRY     W.     BALDWIN, 

■apt.  HlddU  Dapartmant. 
PvricB :  Prbxbl  Puildinq,  cor.  )Vall  and  ^road  ^t&, 

NEW    YORK. 


*  4 


PATE 


S 


MPANY, 

}RK,  I 

»  ■     ,  ■  ■ 

President. 

14,846,032.64 
$800,000.00 

V  iitued  on  most 

APPROVED  CLAIMS 

78 

ED  «'  ^* 


LDWIN, 

t«at. 

LL    AND  ^ROAD  ^T&, 


J"         ^ 


A  CHARMING  NEW  NOVEL. 

The  Lily  of  San  Miniato. 


Author  of 


a  Stors  of  Jfloxt-ntt. 

Bl  Mbb.   0.  V.   HAMILTON, 
'Woven  of  Many  Threada,"  "A  Crotvn  f*om 
The  Spear,"  me.,  Etc, 


Mrs.  Hamilton's  Btorics  are  of  the  most  delightful 
character.  An  artist  herself,  she  locates  many  of  her 
stories  in  Italy,  and  Hnds  opportimities  to  show  familiarity 
with  the  laud  of  song  and  art,  of  which  she  mokes 
incidental  use  to  heighten  the  interest  of  her  tales. 

Among  numerous  reviews  from  the  press,  of  her  stories, 
we  quote  a  few  as  follows  :— 

•' Mni.  H«mllton  bolonu"  to  the  clHKa  of  clever  authorease*  that  exists 
in  EiiBlBnd  to  a  large  extent."— /"/(((a.  Item. 

!■'  I'  !?  \*^^^  ""'"''  !'■•'<»•'»*,  »n<l  <"  wTittcn  In  a  clear,  flowlnR  and 
polished  style.  Those  who  once  begin  it  wUl  hardly  care  to  lay  it  aside 
before  finishing  it."—phila.  Post. 

' '  The  secret  of  her  success  lie*  not  so  much  In  her  beautiful  langnnge 
"," ,  „  '  IHioullar  naturalness  apportninlng  to  all  her  wrltlnits  "-- 
balem  Hegtsttr.  

"The  interest  of  the  reader  is  held  from  the  beginning  to  the  close 
A  charming  story  in  all  respects."— ffotomasoo  Ttlegraph. 

"  A  strong  fiction  evincing  remarkable  creative  power  and  beauty  of 
expression— vivid  chamct«r-drawlng,  fine  desrrlptive  writing,  and  the 
introduction  throughout  the  book  of  a  humorous  vein,  which  gives  it  an 
entertaining  spice,  and  preserves  it  from  becoming  sombre."— .flowon 
Timet.  I 

IHT  Sold  everywhere— and  sent  by  mail,  pottage  free, 
on  receipt  of  price,  $1.00,  paper;  and  $1.60,  cloth,  by 

9.  W.  CABLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

Xaditon  Square,  Ifete  York. 


^■~iti*l^^   i* «^ '-"^IffTf-^^  r  T^mtSe  Tf'i. 


"wov 


THE 


Lily  of  San  Miniato. 


%  S^tm  of  llonnre. 

Mrs.  C.  V.  HAMILTON, 

AUTHOR  OF 

"WOVEN  OF  MANY  THREADS,"    "A  CROWN  FROM  THE  SPEAR," 
"  ROPES  OP  SAND,"    "  MY  BONNIE  LASS,"  ETC. 


^. 


NEW   YORK: 

G.  IV.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Publishers, 

LONDON:    SMITH,   ELDER  &  CO. 
MDCCCUCXVIIL 


Tr 


^"-'.v 

.s-^^ 


Che  di  amara  radiee 

Amare  foglie,  e  amaro  frutto  nam; 

11  mutro  li  paiee 

D*  orrore,  »  di  paura, 

Di  laerime  e  $o»pire, 

Bemprt  in  nuoti  tnartiri, 

E  ptr  hti  solo  at  mondo  il  pianto  dura. 

Obbbtb.    Traqbdu  Antioa. 


■*Vr>:>«(niNbI^^ 


k 

7 

1 

.    '          ^     ■ 

» 

1 
I 
1 
I 

f 

■                         ■                                                                     ■,.■:. 

1, 
(i 

h 

,    ■"  ,  f.i 

>                                                ! 

i- 

Infelice 

:.--/:   ■ 

The  An 

1 

i 

' 

The  Fa] 

i 

TheDti 

' 

1 

1 
li ' 

- 

. 

Fioidilii 
The  Ma 
Signora 
Lisaan( 
TheSta 
The  Ho 

i 
1 

Lisa's  E 

k 

i   . 

f 

■I 

i. 

,>«-«»«-«-a*. 

CONTENTS. 


aiWilUtt>M«kSil^aMMi 


CHAPTER  I. 
Infelice 9 

CHAPTER  IL 
The  Angel  of  the  Church S8 

CHAPTER  in. 
The  Palazzo  Altimonti 89 

CHAPTER  rV. 
The  Dnke  of  Caetellara S3 

CHAPTER  V. 
Fioidilisa 70 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Marriage  in  the  Duomo 86 

CHAPTER  VIL 
Signora  Pia. 101 

CHAPTER  YIIL 
Lisa  and  the  DaohesB 117 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Statue  of  Anrora.  188 

CHAPTER  3L 
The  Home  in  the  Via  Di  San  Gallo , .147 

CHAPTER  XL 
Lisa's  Romance 164 


"  ***»■, 


▼iii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

rial 

AnEvening  at  the  Opera. 180 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
ITemeais 106 

CHAPTER  XIV, 
A  Discovery 212 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A  Mystery 228 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Count  Valdimer'B  Disappointment 243 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Enrico  Fails  as  a  Mediator 250 

CHAPTER  XVm. 

The  Duel 275 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Happy  at  last 292 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Hugo's  Despair 809 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Hugo  Confesses 824 

CHAPTER  XXIL 
TheStetneof  Hebe 840 

CHAPTER  XXTTI. 
"ACruoeSalns" 869 

CHAPTER  2XIV. 
Eniico's  Reward 874 


LI 


the; 
wen 
Cas< 
gaix 
fare 
the 
or  < 
vehi 
T 
ally 


rial 
180 

[. 

196 

212 

228 

[. 

243 

[I. 

259 

a. 

275 

L. 

292 

809 

I. 

824 

a. 

840 

II. 
869 

:v. 

374 


Z^^'  >*  \y  ^f,37W   X^ 


THB  • 


LILY  OF  SAN  MINIATO 


A   STORY  OF  FLORENCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


INFELIOB. 


|NE  intensely  hot  afternoon  in  the  latter  part 
of  July,  when  nearly  all  the  wealthy  and 
fashionable  of  Florence  had  left  the  city  for 
the  lakes  or  mountains,  and  most  of  the  idle  and  poor 
were  resting  their  languid  limbs  under  the  trees  of  the 
Cascine,  Boboli,  or  some  other  of  the  many  beautiful 
gai-dens  on  the  banks  of  the  Amo,  the  pnblic  thorough- 
fares seemed  almost  deserted,  those  only  remaining  in 
the  streets  who  were  engaged  in  some  sort  of  traffic, 
or  on  duty  as  guards  and  drivers  of  the  numerous 
vehicles  which  were  drawn  well  up  in  the  shade. 

The  gaminsy  indigenous  to  all  large  cities,  and  usu- 
ally as  impervious  to  heat  as  salamanders,  were  for  once 


10 


JNFELIOE. 


subdued  into  silence  and  repose,  lying  face  downward 
nnder  the  massive  walls  that  protect  the  west  side  of 
the  Piazza  della  Siguoria  from  the  ardent  rays  of  the 
sun ;  and  even  the  4og8,  oppressed  by  the  stifling 
atmosphere,  lay  panting  with  extended  tongues  and 
drowsy  eyes  in  the  coolest  places,  if  any  one  place 
could  be  cooler  than  another,  on  that  day  of  our  Lord, 
July  6, 1823. 

Under  the  open  arcade  that  surrounds  the  Loggia  di 
Lanzi,  seemingly  unmindful  of  the  discomfort  that 
affected  every  living  thing  around  him,  sat  a  strange- 
looking  figure,  huddled  together  in  the  most  ungainly 
fasliion  imaginable ;  his  knees,  drawn  nearly  up  to  his 
chin,  supported  a  small  slab  of  soft,  light-colored 
stone,  upon  which  he  was  skilfully  copying  in  alto 
relievo  the  Judith  and  Holofernes  of  Donatello. 

While  he  worked  with  eager,  feverish  haste,  his  head, 
covered  with  thick,  dark  hair,  was  bent  so  closely  to  his 
knees  that  one  could  scarce  catch  a  glimpse  of  his 
face ;  only  when,  from  time  to  time,  he  looked  up  to 
study  his  model,  his  thin,  sallow  features  were  clearly 
outlined  against  the  dark  arches  behind  him. 

In  his  cramped,  awkward  posture  there  was  neither 
grace  nor  beauty ;  but  his  delicate,  sad  face  was  full  of 
feeling  and  repressed  passion.  His  brow,  over  which 
the  heavy  hair  fell  when  his  head  was  bent  above  his 
work,  was  broad  and  intelligent ;  his  eyes,  deep-set. 


large  a 
iiig  ex] 
dumb 
Btrcngt 
and  ch 

His 
for  on 
nianipi 
he  usee 

One 
group, 
Hilent 
iigure 
liaiids, 
quick, 
tlie  lu 
vision 

The 
alread' 

• 

lands 

driftin 

and  ov 

ually 

shakin 

stretcli 

evenin 


vigor. 


INFELIGE. 


%t 


ig  face  downward 
vX  the  west  side  of 
ardent  rays  of  the 
3d  by  the  stifling 
iided  tongues  and 
if  any  one  place 
it  day  of  our  Lord, 

unds  the  Loggia  di 
le  discomfort  that 

lilm,  sat  a  strange- 

the  most  ungainly 
wn  nearly  up  to  his 

soft,  light-colored 
ly  copying  in  alto 
:>f  Donatello. 
rish  haste,  his  head, 
lent  so  closely  to  his 
li  a  glimpse  of  his 
ne,  he  looked  up  to 
eatures  were  clearly 
ihind  him. 
re  there  was  neither 

sad  face  was  full  of 
;is  brow,  over  which 
[  was  bent  above  his 

his  eyes,  deep-set, 


large  and  dark,  had  somcthitig  of  the  wistful,  appeal- 
ing expression  in  them  that  one  often  sees  in  those  of 
dumb  animals,  blended  with  a  eort  of  intensity  and 
strength  which  the  firm  and  fine  outline  of  his  mouth 
and  chin  fully  sustained. 

His  long,  thin  fingers,  singularly  slender  and  white 
for  one  evidently  so  low  in  the  scale  of  humanity, 
manipulated  with  ease  and  dexterity  the  tiny  chisels 
he  used  to  perfect  his  exquisite  work.  ' 

One  seeing  him  there,  crouched  before  the  noble 
group,  so  utterly  unmindful  of  all  around  him,  so 
silent  and  absorbed,  might  have  thought  him  also  a 
iiiTure  of  stone,  save  for  the  rapid  movement  of  his 
liands,  the  occasional  uplifting  of  his  head,  and  the 
quick,  impatient  movement  with  which  he  threw  back 
tlie  heavy  locks  that  sometimes  came  between  his 
\i8ion  and  the  object  of  his  careful  study. 

The  pitiless  sun  was  sinking  lower  and  lower,  and 
already  the  cooling  breeze,  th^  in  these  southern 
lands  usually  springs  to  life  at  the  close  of  day,  was 
drifting  in  refreshing  waves  among  the  open  arches 
and  over  the  bent  head  of  the  patient  artist,  as  grad- 
ually men  and  animals  crept  out  from  the  shadows, 
shaking  off  the  slumber  from  their  heavy  lids,  and 
stretching  their  stiffened  limbs  gratefully  in  the  fresh 
evening  air  which  brought  them    renewed  life  and 


vigor. 


12 


INFELIGB. 


I!'' 


"  What !  what  I  Hugo !  still  working  hero  all  through 
tho  day,  in  spite  of  this  heat,  that  fairly  broils  one  ? " 
and  a  short,  stont  priest,  with  untidy  garments  and 
oily  face,  who  crept  along  in  the  shade  of  the  arches, 
stopped  a  moment  to  look  over  the  artist's  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  Father  Ilario,  I  am  still  here,  and  here  I  have 
been  since  early  morning ;  for  one  must  work,  if  one 
would  live  in  this  hard  world,"  returned  Hugo,  with- 
out raising  his  head. 

"  And  it  seems  that  your  task  is  nearly  completed." 

"  Nearly,  thank  the  Blessed  Virgin." 

"  And  well  done,  too,  and  I  count  myself  a  judge," 
said  Father  Ilario,  mopping  down  his  face  with  his 
coarse  blue  handkerchief,  as  he  leaned  over  to  inspect 
the  work  more  closely. 

"  I  trust  it  is  well  done,"  returned  Hugo,  humbly  ; 
"  or  else  it  would  be  better  not  to  be  done  at  all,  for 
no  one  will  buy  copies  from  me  unless  they  are  exact ; 
and  for  the  most  perfect  thing  I  can  do,  the  dealers 
only  pay  me  one-quarter  of  what  they  would  pay 
others  for  poorer  work.  So  you  see,  Father  Ilario, 
what  it  is  to  be  unfortunate.  The  more  God  has 
afflicted  you,  the  more  your  fellow-men  oppress  you." 

"  Nay,  nay,  say  not  so,  my  friend  ;  that  is  rank  in- 
justice to  your  Creator,"  returned  Father  Ilario,  in  a 
smooth,  conciliating  voice.  "  Now,  see  what  you  have 
in  compensation  for  your  deformity — a  talent,  a  real 


talent, 
who  an 

"Th 
have  o 
over  hi 

"  Thi 

«Iti 
fiiif^crs 

"Ah 
look  at 
fasting, 
winter, 
thirety, 
rest.  I 
melt  in 
and  if  1 
rings  at 
gloomy 
may  ha 
the  priv 
Now,  y< 
can  eat 
"Ah 
inclinat 
pathetic 
"But 
we  will 


! 


ng  hero  all  through 
fairly  broils  one  ?  " 
I  tidy  garments  and 
hade  of  the  arches, 
artist's  shoulder, 
re,  and  here  I  have 
must  work,  if  one 
turned  Hugo,  with- 

nearly  completed." 
:in.» 

lit  myself  a  judge," 

his  face  with  his 

ned  over  to  inspect 

led  Hugo,  humbly ; 

be  done  at  all,  for 

less  they  are  exact ; 

can  do,  the  dealers 

it  they  would  pay 

see,  Father  Ilario, 

Che  more  God  has 

men  oppress  you." 

i ;  that  is  rank  in- 

Father  Ilario,  in  a 

,  see  what  yon  have 

ty — a  talent,  a  real 


INFELICE. 


19 


talent,  by  which  you  can  earn  yonr  bread,  while  others 
who  are  tall  and  straight  have  to  go  hungry  or  beg." 

"  Thank  God  I  I  have  never  yet  begged,  though  I 
have  often  gone  hungry,"  said  Hugo,  still  bending 
over  his  work. 

"  Then,  why  not  be  thankful  for  what  you  have  ?  " 

"  It  is  so  little,"  and  a  hot  tear  dropped  on  the  busy 
fingers  of  the  artist. 

"  Ah  !  there  it  is  again — ^}'our  ingratitude.  Now, 
look  at  me.  Look  at  my  life  of  constant  self-denial, 
fasting,  prayers  at  midnight,  heat  in  summer,  cold  in 
winter.  If  I  am  hungry,  I  must  not  eat.  If  I  am 
thii-sty,  I  must  not  drink.  If  I  am  weary,  I  must  not 
rest.  If  I  am.  cold,  I  must  bear  it ;  and  if  I  am  like  to 
molt  in  the  sun,  I  must  go  forth  to  mass  or  vespere ; 
and  if  I  am  never  so  sleepy  when  the  bell  for  prayei-s 
rings  at  midnight,  I  must  arise  and  go  into  the  cold, 
gloomy  chapel,  no  matter  how  pleasant  my  dreams 
may  have  been.  Think  of  that  I — one  has  not  even 
the  privilege  of  dreaming  without  being  interrupted. 
Now,  you,  although  you  think  yonrself  unfortunate,  you 
can  eat  all  you  can  get  when  you  are  inclined  to  eat." 
"  Ah !  but  if  you  cannot  get  food,  of  what  use  is  the 
inclination  and  the  liberty  ? "  asked  Hugo,  raising  his 
pathetic  eyes  to  the  fat  face  of  the  priest. 

"  But  you  can  get  it  if  you  are  industrious.   However, 
we  will  say  no  more  of  that.    I  was  only  trying  to  show 


, 


14 


INFELIGE. 


you  how  iingiatofiil  you  aro,  and  that  othero  beside 
yourself  have  their  troubles  and  ujortifications  of  tho 
flesh.  Now,  this  afternoon,  I  desired  to  read  my 
breviary  under  the  shadow  of  tho  trees  on  San  Mini- 
ato,  where  there  was  quite  a  refreshing  breeze  ;  but, 
instead  of  resting  there  comfortably,  I  had  to  plod 
down  that  long,  weary  hill  to  say  vespei-s  for  Brother 
Anibrogio,  who  has  gone  into  the  country  to  see  a 
sick  man;  and  then  I  have  to  prepare  to  leave  for 
Eoine  to-morrow  right  early.  Ah !  there  is  the  bell 
of  San  Michele,  so  I  must  hasten.  Thank  the  Virgin, 
it  is  near,  for  I  am  more  weary  with  my  walking  in 
this  heat  than  you  aro  with  your  working.  Addio^  and 
say  fifty  aves  to-night,  and  the  Blessed  Mother  will 
give  you  patience  to  bear  your  lot  uncomplainingly." 
With  this  pious  advice,  the  old  priest  hurried  away  as 
fast  as  his  short,  fat  limbs  would  take  him,  wiping  his 
Btreaming  face  as  he  went. 

Scarcely  had  Father  Ilario  disappeared  around  a 
corner,  when  a  number  of  small  boys,  who  had  been 
invisible  for  hours,  sprang  up  suddenly  all  over  the 
great  square,  as  lively  and  wicked  as  though  such  dis- 
comforts as  heat  and  weariness  were  never  known. 

Looking  about  for  some  new  object  on  which  to 
vent  their  long-repressed  mischief,  they  discovered  tho 
unfortunate  Hugo  diligently  bent  over  his  work,  and, 
swooping  down  upon  him  like  birds  of  pi-ey  from  all 


four  cor 
ei-8ccuf 
ing  his  \ 
tiiey  sIk: 
luinchbc 
For  8( 
(lifferenl 
marble 
head  an 
one  bold 
a  bit  of 
its  mark 
ing,  fell 
leaving 
face,  he 
with  liv 
pressed 
while  wi 
liurling 
deformit 
crouchin. 
deed,  a 
reaching 
liis  body 
Poor,  \ 
Ike  a  hu 
jyes,  and 


'  -'TTii.-Qig^in— Tf|-i— t/nfj"  "  ■":  tT  II 1 1  III        I  '"yi  '|l  I    Tfl"*P"  i^""  inyratii^pnii  ti 


INFELWES. 


15 


that  othens  besido 
jrtificatioiis  of  the 
sired  to  read  my 
Tces  on  San  Mini- 
liiiig  breeze ;  but, 
y,  I  had  to  plod 
Bspei-s  for  Brother 
country  to  sec  a 
spare  to  leave  for 
I  there  is  the  boll 
Thank  the  Virgin, 
th  my  walking  in 
king.  Addio,  and 
eesed  Mother  will 
uncomplainingly." 
ist  hurried  away  as 
,ke  him,  wiping  his 

ippeared  around  a 
)y8,  who  had  been 
lenly  all  over  the 
as  though  such  dis- 
3  never  known, 
bject  on  which  to 
they  discovered  the 
over  bis  work,  and, 
da  of  prey  from  all 


(inr  corners  of  the  piazza,  they  began  a  series  of  small 
]iei-8ccution8— poking  at  him  with  sharp  sticks,  twitch- 
ing his  garments,  and  slyly  pulling  his  long  hair,  while 
they  shouted  in  every  note  of  the  gamut,  "  Here  is  the 
hunchback  !  here  is  the  hunchback  !  " 
For  some  time  the  unhappy  creature  remained  in- 

ilTerent  to  their  taunts  and  gibes.     As  silent  as  the 
marble  statue  before  him,  he  worked  on  with  bowed 

load  and  steady,  dexterous  touch,  until  at  last,  when 
one  bolder  and  more  fiendish  than  the  others,  flinging 
a  bit  of  decayed  vegetable  at  his  head,  whicih,  missing 
its  mark,  struck  the  pillar  beliind  him,  and  rebound- 
ing, fell  into  the  very  midst  of  his  beautiful  design, 
leaving  an  ugly  stain  on  the  carefully  wrought  sur- 
face, he  could  endure  it  no  longer  ;  but,  springing  up 
with  livid  face,  quivering  lips,  and  flashing  eyes,  he 
tressed  his  work  close  to  his  breast  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  ho  dashed  aside  the  little  imps, 
mrling  them  violently  right  and  left  in  spite  of  his 
deformity,  which,  now  that   he  had  risen   from   his 
crouching  position,  was  plainly  visible.     Ho  was,  in- 
deed, a  hunchback ;   his  head  bowed,  his  slioulders 
reaching  to  his  eai-s,  his  limbs  unnaturally  long,  and 
lis  body  unnaturally  short. 

Poor,  unfortunate,  tormented  being !  There  he  stood 
ike  a  hunted  stag  at  bay,  with  quivering  nostrils,  wild 
jyes,  and  trembling  limbs,  anxiously  trying  to  shield 


-■  <&!mi^i^^f^S'^i>^-<^iiaS>i^siei*i.--^-  a 


16 


INFELICS. 


his  troftsnro  from  those  sacrilpgions  hands,  and  him- 
Bclf  from  tholr  nulo  and  boistcro>i«  attack. 

At  length,  almost  oxhanstod  from  his  effort  to  pro- 
tect his  work  from  injury,  rather  than  his  own  person, 
and  seeing  that  his  persccutoi-s  had  not  in  the  least 
almndoiKjd  their  intention  of  routing  him  entirely,  ho 
l<K)ked  aronnd  ai>i)oalingly  for  assistance,  while  ho  criod 
in  tones  of  mingled  indignation  and  entreaty: 

"  Mother  of  God  I  have  yon  no  pity,  that  you  will 
allow  these  littlo  demons  to  torment  mo  so?  I  only 
am  trying  to  live— to  keep  the  wretched  life  confided 
to  my  care.  I  ask  but  to  remain  hero  and  work  in 
peace,  and  that  even  is  denied  mo.  Children,  chil- 
dren ! "  and  stretching  out  his  disengaged  hand  towards 
them,  ho  turned  his  white,  weary  face,  from  which  all 
the  anger  had  gone,  full  upon  them.  "  Wliy  will  you 
torment  me  so?  I  love  you  all,  and  I  would  not  injure 
you.  1  am  not  bad,  nor  given  to  quarrel.  I  am  only  a 
poor,  unfortunate  being,  tired  and  faint  from  hunger, 
and  I  cannot  buy  bread  until  I  finish  this  copy  ;  there- 
fore, T  entreat  you  to  allow  me  to  complete  it." 

But  his  touching  appeal  fell  on  deaf  ears  ;  and  seo- 
ing  that  it  was  useless  to  try  to  continue  his  work,  he 
gathered  up  his  small  tools  and  turned  away  from  the 
spot  with  a  disheartened  sigh,  followed  by  the  hooting, 
shouting  rabble. 

Aa  he  left  the  piazza  behind  him  and  entered  a 


I  mil 


Bi«,rjj;!Wfc.i'»'-'i°-'<««'^'^=^'^>r''<>ai»g^y?^5»jafrX%*tt"i^ 


INFELICE. 


IT 


1  hands,  and  him- 
Utack. 

I  \m  effort  to  j)ro- 
tn  his  own  person, 
i  not  in  the  least 
\^  him  entirely,  ho 
lice,  while  ho  criod 
entreaty : 

pity,  that  yon  will 
nt  mo  so  ?     I  only 
tchcd  life  confided 
hero  and  work  in 
lO.     Children,  chil- 
^age<l  hand  towards 
ice,  from  which  all 
1.     "  Wliy  will  you 
I  wonld  not  itijnro 
arrcl.     I  am  only  a 
faint  from  hunger, 
ill  this  copy  ;  thero- 
jomplete  it." 
deaf  ears  ;  and  soo- 
iitinuo  his  work,  he 
med  away  from  the 
wed  by  the  hooting, 

liim  and  entered  a 


narrow  street  that  led  to  the  gate  of  San  Miiiiato,  ho 
chisped  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  repiesscd  anguisii, 
while  the  large  tears  gathered  slowly,  and  rolling 
down  his  wasted  checks,  fell  in  great  drops  on  his  do- 
gigii—ilistigured  by  the  uncleanly  object  that  had 
struck  it— stained  and  utterly  ruined  beyond  all  hope 
of  repair. 

"  It  is  cruel,  it  is  wicked,"  ho  muttered  to  himself ; 
"  all  the  labor  of  weeks  destroyed  in  a  moment,  for  I 
catmot  erase  this  stain  without  nmrring  tlio  features, 
which  I  cut  with  such  care.  It  is  the  best  piece  of 
work  I  have  over  done,  and  the  njost  difticult ;  and 
this  head  of  Judith  is  so  delicate.  I  have  wearied  my 
eyes  bo  in  copying  it,  and  I  was  so  proud  of  it  1  If 
God  had  not  allowed  the  sun  to  set  so  sooji,  the  heat 
would  have  kept  these  wicked  little  demons  quiet,  and 
I  might  have  finished  it ;  then,  I  should  have  been  i)aid 
ten  scudi;  but  now,  I  shall  get  nothing.  It  is  of  no 
value,  it  is  imperfect,  and  I  may  as  well  destroy  it 
altogether." 

As  he  spoke,  a  spasm  of  anger  distorted  his  face,  and 
his  eyes  glared  with  fury,  as  he  turned  impetuously 
and  dashed  the  stone  against  the  angle  of  a  building, 
crushing  it  into  a  dozen  fragments,  which  he  gathered 
up  and  hurled  fiercely  at  his  i)Ui-8uer8,  with  curses  and 
cries  of  rage. 
This  exhibition  of  passion  did  not  daunt  them  in  the 


r 


18 


tNFELICB, 


loaat,  but  instead,  only  excited  their  mirth,  iw  they 
foHowod  him  into  a  narnjw  atrect,  wliitiier  ho  ran 
wildly,  holding  hiit  handi*  over  \m  mn  to  shut  out  thoir 
Bhoutfl  of  laughter.  Ab  he  find,  they  pursued,  and  one 
of  the  nioHt  <laring,  hurrying  on  iu  atlvmieo  of  the 
othoi-B,  flung  a  piece  of  the  br«)ken  stone  at  hiu),  which 
struck  his  defornjod  back,  causing  Huch  acute  pain 
that  in  an  instant  ho  seemed  transformed  into  a  wild 
beast. 

With  foaming  mouth  and  glaring  eyes,  ho  turned 
suddenly,  and  before  the  boy  could  escai'c,  he  seized 
him,  and  holding  him  high  in  his  long  arms,  seomod 
about  to  dash  him  on  the  pavement,  when  a  carriage 
rapidly  turned  the  corner  and  stopped  before  the 
excited  and  terrified  group  of  children,  who  wore  now 
screaming  wildly,  greatly  alarmed  at  the  fate  of  their 

comrade. 

"What  is  this  disturbance?  Hold  there,  ruffian! 
release  that  child!"  shouted  a  voice  from  the  car- 
riage, and  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer  of  the 
govemo  civile  sprang  out,  and  seizing  the  hunchback 
dashed  him  aside,  while  he  pushed  the  trembling  boy 
into  the  midst  of  his  companions,  tolling  him  to  take 
himself  off  as  quickly  as  possible.  Then,  turning  to 
Hugo,  who  stood  pale  and  trembling,  all  the  auger 
and  courage  gone  out  of  hira  at  this  sudden  appari- 
tion, he  said  sternly :  ,'  H: 


"I 

I  shoi 
"/ 

ordori 

"li 

beyon 

"Is 

make 

«1 

that  it 

thoLt 

my  wc 

«T1 

troubl 

You  a 

«Y< 

harm  i 

«Sil 

you  a 

ment. 

would 

The 

fore ;  t 

was  m 

forgot 

do  no  I 


i;^g^4a^SB»V»*^*>i^-«nWll>-d*fM^=  ^/^firtVT,?^  ■■  =y^'-^Siffit^X^S^4^^gfiiSiS&t-' 


TNFUrWM, 


10 


loir  mirth,  iw  thoy 
set,  wliitlicr  ho  ran 
artrs  to  shut  out  their 
oy  pur»iK!<l,  aiul  ono 
in  mlviiuco  of  the 
Btono  lit  iiiin,  wliich 
ij?  Hiich  acute  pain 
ttforiued  into  a  wild 

•ing  oycs,  ho  tuniod 
lid  eBCftpo,  ho  Boizcd 
is  long  arms,  Bcomod 
out,  when  a  carriage 
stopped  before  the 
Id  run,  who  wore  now 
1  at  the  fato  of  their 

Hold  there,  ruffian! 
voice  from  tlie  car- 
of  an  officer  of  the 
lizing  the  hunchback 
)d  the  trembling  boy 
5,  tolling  hira  to  take 
,0.  Then,  turning  to 
ibling,  all  the  anger 
;  this  saddeu  appari- 


"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  ,  J  I  caiiglit  yoa  In  (he  fity  again, 

I  BJiouId  send  you  to  prison  f  " 
"  Ah  I  Signore,  I  reinenibor  that  you  did." 
"Then  why  aro  you  here  now,  in  deflttnce  of  tny 

orders  ? " 

"  Uecause  I  wa«  starvhig,  and  I  could  do  nothing 
beyond  the  walls  to  earn  a  Huldi:^ 

"  Is  it  necessary,  because  you  come  into  the  city,  to 
make  such  a  disturbance  as  this  ? " 

"  1  pray  you,  Signore,  to  believe  mo  when  I  tell  you 
that  it  was  not  my  fault.  I  was  working  peaceably  in 
the  Loggia  di  Lanzi,  when  these  boys  beset  me,  ruined 
my  work,  and  drove  me  away." 

"  That  is  the  old  story,  and  I  do  not  believe  it.  These 
troubles  would  not  occur  if  you  did  not  provoke  them. 
You  aro  a  bad,  quarrelsome  fellow." 

"  You  mistake,  Signore.  I  am  not  bad ;  I  would  not 
harm  a  fly,  if  I  was  left  in  peace." 

"  Silence  I  do  not  contradict  me.  Did  I  not  just  see 
you  about  to  dash  that  child  to  pieces  on  the  pave- 
ment. If  I  had  not  arrived  the  moment  I  did,  you 
would  have  murdered  him."  ,.  ,  ,  ,  ,a  w  *,  . 
The  hunchback  shivered  and  turned  paler  than  be- 
fore; then  said  humbly,  while  tears  filled  his  eyes,  « It 
was  my  dreadful  temper,  Signore,  and  the  pain— I 
forgot  myself.  Believe  me,  if  I  was  left  alone,  I  would 
do  no  harm." 


wfsmmemmimiii 


so 


INFELICE. 


"  It  is  useless  to  promise  me ;  I  have  no  faith  in  your 
word.  This  is  the  third  time  I  have  detected  vou  dis- 
turbing  the  peaee,  and  if  I  did  my  duty,  I  should  send 
you  to  prison  at  once." 

"  O  Signore  1  for  the  love  of  the  Virgin,  pardon  me 
this  time  and  let  me  leave  the  city,  and  I  will  never 
return  here  to  work,  even  though  I  starve.  At  San 
Miniato,  I  am  safe ;  no  one  disturbs  me  there.  If  I  die, 
I  shall  die  in  tlie  only  home  I  have  on  earth,  in  the 
free  air,  where  I  can  see  the  trees,  and  the  blue  sky 
above  me.  I  am  so  miserable.  I  implore  you  1 1  spare 
me,     I  am  not  worth  your  anger." 

"  There,  there,  that  will  do,"  said  the  officer,  evident- 
ly moved  by  the  poor  creature's  appeal.  "I  h.r  e  no 
ill  feeling  against  you ;  but  the  public  peace  must  be 
respected.  Get  out  of  the  city  as  quickly  as  you  can, 
and  remember,  if  I  see  you  here  again,  you  will  be  put 
where  you  will  be  obliged  to  conduct  yourself  peace- 
ably. Now  go,  and  thank  your  good  fortune  that  you 
fell  into  my  hands  instead  of  another's." 

Hugo,  without : .  aiting  to  reply,  with  a  wild,  hunted 
look  in  his  eyes,  clenched  his  hands  in  a  sort  of  re- 
pressed agony  and  rushed  away  into  the  shadow  of 
a  narrow  street  that  led  straight  to  the  Amo.  As  he 
went,  he  muttered  to  himself :  *'  I  knew  it  would  come 
sooner  or  later.  I  knew  that,  through  their  cruelty,  I 
should  be  driven  out  of  the  city.    Oh,  my  unfortunate 


teir 
it  ( 
No^ 
hot 
evei 
rive 
it  s< 
hav 
to  c 

to  II 

into 
mar 
I  wi 
uge 
mus 
quic 
shap 
it,  I 
beca 
thou 
I  do 
ly  c 
disto 
God' 
the  s 
inno< 
of  ji 


■mme''^.xi^xMmK,4^>smm>!g!mmfm^s9m)»^mn&em>imsm^^^^'s 


INFELICE. 


9t 


have  no  fpith  in  your 
ave  detected  vou  dis- 
ly  duty,  I  should  send 

lie  Virgin,  pardon  me 
ity,  and  I  will  never 
fh  I  starve.  At  San 
)8  me  there.  If  I  die, 
liave  on  earth,  in  the 
jes,  and  the  blue  sky 
I  implore  you  1 1  spare 

id  the  officer,  evident- 
appeal.  "I  h.r  e  no 
)ublic  peace  must  be 
18  quickly  as  you  can, 
again,  yon  will  be  put 
idnct  yourself  peace- 
;ood  fortune  that  you 
ther's."  Vf^ 

T,  with  a  wild,  hunted 
ands  in  a  sort  of  re- 
'  into  the  shadow  of 
to  the  Amo.  As  he 
[  knew  it  would  come 
rough  their  cruelty,  I 
Oh,  my  unfortunate 


temper !  why  did  I  not  control  it  a  little  longer,  though 
it  did  burn  within  mo  like  the  flames  of  inferno? 
Now  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  cool  my  angry, 
hot  heart  in  the  river.     I  have  always  known  that 
everything  would  end  there  for  mo  some  day.     The 
river !  the  river !   I  have  heard  its  cool,  clear  ripple,  as 
it  sounds  against  the  bridges  hour  after  hour,  when  I 
have  been  hungry  and  cold  and  in  pain,  and  it  seemed 
to  call  to  me  gently  and  kindly :  *  Come  to  me,  come 
to  me.'     But  while  1  had  my  art,  while  I  could  come 
into  the  city  and  copy,  and  worship  these  beautiful 
marble  gods,  I  would  not  listen  to  it.    I  said  :  '  No,  no, 
I  will  come  to  thee  only  when  there  is  no  other  ref- 
uge for  me.'     Now  there  is  no  other  refuge,  and  I 
must  go.    It  is  only  a  moment  of  dread— one  short, 
quick  plunge,  and  all  will  be  over,  and  this  poor,  mis- 
shapen, aching  body  will  be  at  rest  forever.    Why  is 
it,  I  wonder,  that  when  I  am  the  only  one  to  suffer 
because  of  my  misfortunes,  every  one  treats  me  as 
though  I  inflicted  some  torment  upon  them.    Perhaps 
I  do,  with  the  sight  of  my  hideous  form.     In  this  love- 
ly country,  where  all  is  grace  and   symmetry,  the 
distorted  goUo  is  looked  upon  as  an  impersonation  of 
God's  anger— a  creature  set  apart  by  his  Creator  for 
the  scorn  and  loathing  of  all  mankind.    And  yet  I  am 
innocent  of  any  wrong  to  others.    I  have  a  nice  sense 
of  justice  in  my  soul.    I  love  the  fortunate  beings 


ss 


INFELIGB. 


who  have  neither  affection  nor  pity  for  me.  I  can 
forgive  those  who  make  me  suffer.  I  am  grateful 
for  one  word  of  kindness,  one  glance  that  is  not 
full  of  abhorrence.  I  woi-ship  all  that  is  beautiful, 
and  I  would  rather  live,  if  I  could ;  but  there  is  no 
place  for  me  on  earth ;  the  city  I  worship  is  closed 
to  me ;  I  can  see  its  beauties  no  more,  and  the  river 
calls  lue — calls  me,  as  it  always  has  in  my  hours  of 
anguish." 

Suddenly  the  deep  tone  of  a  bell  struck  on  his  ear, 
and  looking  up  in  his  hurried  flight,  he  saw  the  door  of 
the  cliurch  of  Santo  Spirito  standing  open  before  him. 
"  I  will  enter,"  he  said,  "  and  offer  np  one  prayer  to 
the  Mother  of  God  lor  the  repose  of  my  poor  soul, 
before  I  usher  it  into  eternity."  ^   ^v 

Slipping  through  the  black  sliadows  of  the  great 
pillars,  he  crept  into  the  almost  empty  church,  and 
falling  on  his  knees  before  one  of  tlie  altars,  he  tried 
to  turn  his  troubled  thoughts  to  heaven ;  but,  instead  of 
divine  meniy  claiming  his  attention,  the  memory  of 
earthly  injustice  overpowered  him,  and  the  wrongs  he 
had  just  experienced  oppressed  him  so  heavily,  that  he 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  buret  into  deep, 
heart-bi'eaking  sobs. 


ICE. 


THE  ANOEL  OF  THE  CHUROH. 


28 


nor  pity  for  me.  I  can 
le  suffer.  I  am  grateful 
one  glance  that  is  not 
ship  all  that  is  beautiful, 
I  could;  but  there  is  no 
!  city  I  worship  is  closed 
es  no  more,  and  the  river 
ways  has  in  my  hours  of 

■  a  bell  struck  on  his  ear, 
d  flight,  he  saw  the  door  of 
standing  open  before  him. 
id  offer  up  one  prayer  to 
I  repose  of  my  poor  soul, 

y."  --^  '    •    - 

ick  shadows  of  the  great 
Imost  empty  church,  and 
tne  of  tlie  altars,  he  tried 
8  to  heaven ;  but,  instead  of 
attention,  the  memory  of 
sd  him,  and  the  wrongs  he 
Bed  him  so  heavily,  that  he 
mds  and  burat  into  deep, 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CHTJEOH. 


[HAT  is  the  matter,  my  poor  friend,  and  why 
do  you  weep  so « "  The  voice  fell  on  Hugo's 
ear  like  a  strain  of  sweet,  sad  music,  and 
looking  up,  he  saw  a  figure  before  him  so  lovely  that 
his  fii-st  thought  was  of  saints  and  angels.  But  the 
human  sympathy  of  the  face,  and  the  kind  touch  of  a 
soft  hand  on  his  poor  deformed  shoulder,  told  him  that 
it  was  no  celestial  visitant — only  a  lovely  and  compas- 
sionate woman  who  looked  down  on  him  from  her 
serene  height.        . 

She  was  young— not  over  twenty— fair  and  graceful, 
and  her  rich  robes  denoted  wealth  and  rank,  as  well  as 
her  jewelled  fingers,  and  tlie  heavy  gold  clasps  that 
bound  the  prayer-book  she  held  in  her  hand.  But, 
although  so  young  and  beautiful,  and  evidently  a  child 
of  fortune,  there  was  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow  on 
her  face,  and  her  voice  sounded  like  the  sob  of  a 
stringed  instrument  touched  by  a  rude  hand. 

"  Your  trouble  must  be  great,  poor  mourner,"  she 
continued,  as  the  hunchback,  staggering  to  his  feet, 
turned  his  mournful,  tear-stained  eyes  upon  her. 


m- 


9V 


THE  ANOEL  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


« It  18  indeed  great,  Signora,"  and  he  leaned  heavily 
against  the  railing,  as  though  he  would  faint  from 
weakness. 

«  And  you  are  ill— your  pallor  shows  it." 

« I  am  weary  and  hungry,  that  is  all.  But  now  I  am 
hetter  ;  your  kind  words  have  cured  me." 

«  Tell  me  the  cause  of  your  trouble,  and  perhaps  I 
can  aid  you  ;  at  least,  if  you  are  suffering  from  want, 
I  can  relieve  you,  for  I  have  more  than  I  need.    Now 

tell  mo  all." 

«Ahl  gentle  lady,  it  would  weary  you  to  hear  all 
the  story  of  my  wrongs  and  sufferings.  Humanity  is 
80  cruel  to  those  who  are  afflicted  as  I  am ! " 

« I  pray  you,  tell  me,  for  I  would  fain  find  another 
soul  as  miserable  as  mine  is  to  pour  some  balm  upon, 
if  it  is  possible,  iu  the  hope  that  it  may  ease  a  little  my 

own  pain." 

Encouraged  by  these  gentle  words,  Hugo  told  the 
story  of  his  persecution  and  disappointment  to  the 
lovely  stranger,  who  listened  attentively,  sighing  heav- 
ily from  time  to  time. 

«  Holy  mother!  can  it  be  possible  that  there  can  bo 
such  gross  injustice  here,  in  our  lovely  city  of  Flor- 
ence ? " 

"Aye,  my  lady,  what  I  have  told  you  is  true,  and 
how  I  am  to  live  now  I  know  not,  for  my  only  means 
of  subsistence  was  in  copying  the  different  antiques, 


ff  cnuBcn. 

and  he  leaned  heavily 
he  would  faint  from 

p  shows  it." 

;  is  all.    But  now  I  am 

ircd  me." 

trouble,  and  perhaps  I 

■e  suffering  from  want, 

)re  than  I  need.    Now 

weary  you  to  hear  all 
ifferings.  Humanity  is 
id  as  I  am ! " 
?ould  fain  find  another 
pour  some  balm  upon, 
;  it  may  ease  a  little  my 

words,  Hugo  told  the 
disappointment  to  the 
tentively,  sighing  heav- 

»ssible  that  there  can  bo 
lur  lovely  city  of  Flor- 

e  told  you  is  true,  and 

not,  for  my  only  means 

the  different  antiques, 


TUt!  ANOEL   OF  TUB  CtlURCn. 


25 


which  a  dealer  in  the  Ponte  Vecchiu  boiii,'ht  from 
iiic— at  a  vei-y  low  price,  it  is  true,  but  still  it  has  kept 
1110  from  starvation.  If  1  am  not  allowed  to  come 
any  more  into  the  city,  I  cannot  continue  my  for- 
mer employment,  as  I  have  nothing  to  serve  mo  as 
models. 

"  Poor  unfortunate !  Your  lot  is  indeed  a  cruel  one 
—afflicted  by  God,  and  wronged  and  despised  by  your 
foUow-creatures." 

"  Padre  Ilario  says  I  have  much  to  be  tliankf ul  for ; 
that  I  have  my  talent,  which  was  given  me  by  the 
Creator  in  compensation  for  my  deformity ;   but  if  I 
cannot  use  it,  of  what  use  is  it  to  me  ? " 
"  Have  you  no  parents  ? " 

"  Alas !  no,  Signora.    My  mother  died  when  I  was  a 
child,  and  my  father  I  can  scarce  remember." 

"  Were  you  born  here,  in  the  city  that  refuses  to 
phelter  yon  ? "         '  .  ?-    ^ 

"  1  know  not  where  I  was  born  ;  but  I  think  it  was 
here,  for  my  earliest  recollections  are  of  a  pretty  cot- 
I  tai,'e  on  the  banks  of  the  Arno,  surrounded  by  trees 
IuikI  flowers,  and  filled  with  pictures  and  b(x)ks ;  and 
Icf  my  mother,  who  was  very  young  and  lovely,  and 
jwlio  must  have  been  a  famous  singer,  for  I  have  never 
Iforgotten  her  voice.  She  often  sat  for  hours  at  her  harp, 
land  sang  more  like  an  angel  than  a  human  being;  and 
|1  have  never  heard  any  music  like  it,  not  even  the  ves- 


S6.  THE  ANGEL   OF  TUE  ClWIiClI. 

pers  in  the  churches,  where  I  often  go,  so  that  I  may 

be  a  little  nearer  her." 

«  And  what  else  can  you  remember  \  "   asked  the 
lady,  as  she  wiped  away  a  furtive  tear. 

"  Nut  much  of  that  time,  for  I  must  have  been  very 
young  then ;  but  later,  when  I  was  larj^er  and  could 
run  around  the  garden,  I  have  a  distinct  re.nen.branco 
of  her  coming  to  mo  and  biddu.g  me  to  enter  the 
house,  telling  me  that  my  father  had  come  and  she 
wished  me  to  remain  in  my  chan.ber  until  he  went 
away  Tuor  mother  1  child  though  1  was,  1  understood 
that  she  did  not  wish  the  author  of  my  being  to  see 
his  poor  afflicted  offspring." 

"  Then  yon  never  saw  your  father  1 " 
«  Yes  1  saw  him  at  that  time.    Burning  with  curios- 
ity  to  see  what  a  father  was  like,  I  crept  from  my 
hiding-place  and  went  unobserved  into  the  garden 
again.    There  I  saw,  sitting  on  the  loggia  of  our  l.ttlc 
cQttage,  a  tall,  handsome  man,  dressed  in  an  ofhcers 
uniform.    He  held  my  mother's  hand  in  h.s,  and  she 
was  weeping  bitterly.    I  could  not  endure  to  see  her 
trouble,  and,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  of  tenderness, 
I  rushed  from  my  concealment  and  threw  myself  o,> 
her  neck,  e.nbracing  her  and  kissing  away  her  tears. 
She  put  her  arms  about  n.e,  for,  hideous  though  I  was, 
I  was  her  child,  and  her  heart  was  true  to  the  mate.^ 
nal  instinet;  and,  leaning  her  face  on  my  deformed 


si 
a 
e: 
fi 
n 
ti 
h 


tl 
li( 
It 
w 
nt 
ui 
sli 
ai 

m 

al 

IK 
hfl 

Ka 
he 
a 
pe 


E  CJJUIiCII. 

.ften  go,  so  that  I  may 

ncmbor  1  "   asked  the 

,0  tear. 

[  must  have  been  very 
was  larger  and  could 
I  distinct  renienibrauco 
Idhig  nie  to  enter  the 
er  had  come  and  she 
ihamber  nntil  he  went 
ugh  1  was,  1  understood 
lor  of  my  being  to  see 

ather?" 
5.    Burning  with  curios- 
,  like,  I  crept  from  my 
;erved  into  the  garden 
I  the  loggia  of  our  little 
,  dressed  in  an  officer's 
sr's  hand  in  his,  and  she 
i  nut  endure  to  see  her 
jn  impulse  of  tenderness, 
nt  and  threw  myself  on 
kissing  away  her  tears. 
)r,  hideous  though  I  was, 
t  was  true  to  the  mater- 
ir  face  on  my  deformed 


THE  ANOEL  OF  THE  CUURCII. 


27 


shoulder,  we  wept  together.  I  renieuibcr  nil  her  love 
and  tenderness,  but  nut  better  than  I  remenibor  the 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  horror  with  which  my 
father  greeted  my  sudden  appearance.  From  that 
moment  I  hated  him,  and  if  he  is  in  the  world,  I  some- 
times think  that  he  must  suffer  dreadful  remorse  for 
his  cruelty  to  me  and  my  mother." 

"  Then  you  know  not  whether  ho  be  living  ?  " 

"  No,  Signora,  for  not  long  after  that  ho  deserted 
the  woman  who  had  lost  all  for  him,  and  left  her  and 
her  unfortunate  child  to  the  cold  charity  of  the  world. 
It  broke  my  mother's  heart.  She  died  in  my  arms 
when  I  was  eight  years  old,  without  telling  mo  tho 
name  or  rank  of  her  betrayer,  and  I  have  never  known 
until  this  day ;  but  sometimes  I  am  confident  that  I 
shall  meet  him  face  to  face,  a  living  witness  of  his  sin 
and  deception."  "^^       _:^ 

"And  who  cared  for  yon  after  the  death  of  your 
mother?" 

"No  one  but  the  God  of  the  helpless,  if  being 
allowed  to  live  was  being  cared  for.  My  mother  did 
not  leave  enough  to  bury  her,  for  before  her  death  she 
had  quitted  her  pretty  cottage  and  gone  into  a  squalid 
garret  near  thePonte  Vecchio,  where  she  breatlied  out 
her  unhappy  life  in  want  and  teare.  So  I  was  thrown 
a  waif  on  the  stream  of  life,  to  float  or  sink  as  it  hap- 
pened— the  butt  of  scorn  and  contempt,  jeered  at  and 


S8 


TIW  ANUKL  OF  THIS  OIWRUU. 


mocked,  and  buffeted  by  all,  and  pitied  by  none,  not 
oven  those  whom  God  hath  bidden  to  bo  merciful  to 
his  afflicted  ones.  During  the  day  I  sought  the  refuge 
of  tho  churches  to  be  freed  from  the  persecution  of 
tljo  children,  who  followed  mo  relentlessly;  and  at 
jiight  I  slept  wherever  I  could  find  a  place  to  lay  my 
weary,  suffering  body.  To  satisfy  tho  cravings  of 
hunger,  I  ate  tho  crumbs  that  fell  from  the  tables  of 
the  rich,  the  scraps  that  were  thrown  mo  by  the  hand 
of  charity,  iridifferent  whether  it  were  a  dog  or  a 
human  being  that  devoured  their  scanty  offerings. 

"  Passing,  as  I  did,  most  of  my  time  in  the  churches, 
I  began  to  study,  almost  umionsciously,  the  works  of 
art  that  surrounded  me,  and  dimly,  at  fii-st,  I  felt  the 
dawning  of  a  new  life  within  mo.  Some  one  gave  me 
a  broken  knife,  and  with  the  aid  of  that  I  cut  out  of 
soft  stone  a  little  figure,  a  copy  of  one  of  the  saints 
around  the  high  altar  of  San  Marco.  When  I  first  saw 
the  likeness  to  the  original,  and  knew  that  I  possessed 
the  power  of  imitation,  I  thought  I  should  die  of  joy. 
I  wept,  I  kissed  the  feet  of  the  Madonna  in  the  most 
fervent  gratitude,  and  from  that  moment  I  entered 
upon  another  life ;  I  was  never  as  wretched  and  lonely 
as  1  had  been  before. 

"  One  day.  Padre  Ilario,  a  monk  from  San  Miniato, 
saw  me  crouched  at  tho  foot  of  the  altar  in  San  Am- 
brogio,  carving  steadily  at  a  little  figure  of  the  Holy 


OUURUIt. 


THE  ANOEL  OF  THE  CIIURCn. 


29 


I  pitiotl  by  none,  not 
en  to  1)0  merciful  to 
y  I  80uj;ht  the  refuge 
n  the  peraecution  of 

relentlessly ;  and  at 
ind  a  place  to  lay  my 
tisfy  the  cravings  of 
bU  from  the  tables  of 
rown  mo  by  the  hand 

it  were  a  dog  or  a 
•  scanty  offerings. 
T  time  in  the  churches, 
sciously,  the  works  of 
inly,  at  fu-st,  I  felt  the 
Q.  Some  one  gave  me 
d  of  that  I  cut  out  of 
r  of  one  of  the  saints 
irco.    When  I  first  saw 

know  that  I  possessed 
lit  I  should  die  of  joy. 

Madonna  in  the  most 
lat  moment  I  entered 
as  wretched  and  lonely 

mk  from  San  Miniato, 
I  the  altar  in  San  Am- 
tle  figure  of  the  lEoly 


Mothor.  My  industry,  yonth,  and  pitiful  deformity 
ftttracted  hisjittontion,  and  ho  cxninined  my  work  witli 
great  interest,  and  praised  it  without  stint ;  this  en- 
couraged mo  to  show  liiin  several  others  which  I  had 
concealed  about  my  person.  It  is  true,  they  were  criido 
mid  imperfect,  yet  they  posaossed  some  merit,  and  the 
good  Father  saw  it,  and  was  delighted  at  what  ho  con- 
sidered a  pre(!ocious  talent. 
"  *  Have  yon  ever  tried  to  soil  thorn  ? '  ho  asked. 
"  I  replied  that  I  never  had,  not  dreaming  that  it 
was  possible  to  receive  money  for  what  had  been  but 
a  pastime  to  me. 

"  *  Go  to-morrow  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and  sit  you 
doNvn  where  travellei-s  pass  most ;  be  modest  and  well 
behaved,  not  too  shy,  nor  too  eager,  in  displaying  your 
work,  and  I  will  wager  you  that  before  night  you  will 
dispose  of  one  or  more  of  your  figures.  Set  no  price 
upon  them  yourself ;  leave  it  to  the  generosity  of  the 
i)uyer,  and  yon  will  be  better  paid  than  you  think. 
And  if  you  succeed,  forget  not  to  go  to  the  Holy 
Mother  and  give  her  thanks  for  your  good  fortune.' 

"The  next  morning,  at  sunrise,  I  crept  out  from 
under  a  vender's  cart — my  only  bed — and  going  to  the 
nearest  fountain,  I  washed  my  hands  and  face  as  cleanly 
as  I  could,  and  wiped  them  on  a  cabbage-leaf  thrown  me 
by  a  good-natured  market-woman  ;  dusted  and  cleaned 
ray  rags  as  much  ae  possible,  and  with  my  little  figures 


^^■■^' 


10 


TIIR  ANGRL   OF  TJW  UllUltOJI. 


neatly  miij,'C(l  hy  my  sido,  I  Boiitotl   niysolf  in  a  con- 
BpicuouB  plaro  niid  awiiited   my  first  vutstomor.     Hut 
altisl   my   liopc«   wore   hooii    dorttroyod.     I    woh    not 
allowed  to  roiimin  iiiiywliero  in  pence.     Several  niiw- 
chiovous  ehildrcii  giUhorod  around  me,  and  with  fthoutfl 
and  joors  routed  mo  and  compelled  ino  to  move  on. 
Durinj,'  the  day  1  located    myHolf   in   fifty  different 
places.     Patient,  resolved,  and  hopeful,  I  was  not  over- 
come by   the  crnel  treatment  I  received,   and  l)cforo 
sunset  I  had  succeeded  in  ('isposing  of  two  of  my  little 
f,„,„.oft_-„no  to  a  priest  ici  :en  sohll,  and  the  other  to  a 
•kind-faced  lady  for  two  H/L     I  had  never  before  hold  a 
liri  in  my  hand,  and  1  was  richer  than  a  king  npon  his 
throno,  and  happier  than  any  boy   in   Florence  that 
night.     Nor  did  I  forget  to  return  thanks  to  the  Madon- 
na.    I  went  to  the  nearest  chm-ch,  and,  falling  on  my 
knees,  I  p(  (i^nd  out  my  very  soul  in  thankfulness." 

"And  did  you  continue  to  sell  your  work?"  asked 
the  lady,  deeply  interested  in  Hugo's  narrative. 

"  Yes,  for  a  time,  until  there  was  not  a  siwt  where 
I  was  not  known  and  greeted  with  the  cry  of  '  £eco  il 
gohbo,  ecco  il  gobbo,'  which  was  the  signal  for  an  attack, 
when  I  was  invariably  driven  away,  sometimes  with 
blows,  sometimes  with  my  wares  utterly  ruined.  How- 
ever, I  managed  to  exist,  until  one  day  a  dealer  in  brie- 
dbrao,  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  noticing  the  little  figures 
and  seeming  struck  with  their  accuracy,  told  me  to 


.III 


po 


bCC 


on 


?  ciiunoji. 

otl  niysolf  ill  a  con- 

firftt  iiUrttoinor.  Hut 
Htroyod.     1    wort    not 

pence.  Several  inin- 
d  ine,  and  with  fthoutfl 
lied  ino  to  move  on. 
lelf  in  ftfty  different 
)j)ef  id,  I  was  not  over- 

rceeivod,   and  before 
iiig  of  two  of  my  little 
ohll,  and  the  other  to  a 
had  never  before  hold  a 
r  than  a  king  upon  his 
boy   in   Florence  that 
n  thanks  to  the  Madon- 
ch,  and,  falling  on  my 
il  in  thankfidness." 
3II  your  work  ? "  asked 
uffo's  narrative, 
ivas  not  a  s\wt  where 
ith  the  cry  of  '  £eco  il 
he  signal  for  an  attack, 

awav,  sometimes  with 
8  ntterly  mined.  How- 
no  dav  a  dealer  in  brie- 
oticing  the  little  figures 
i*  accuracy,  told  me  to 


TJIR  ANORt  OF  TUK  CHURCH. 


81 


liriiii,'  them  to  him  and  ho  would  dispose  of  them  for 
iiu!  to  better  lulvaiitage.  Since  then  ho  has  bought  nil 
1  call  iimko  ;  I)iit  B(»iiie  are  so  difliciilt  and  take  mo  so 
long  to  ciirvi',  and  I  get  so  little  for  them,  that  I  am 
often  hungry.  Tlio  alto  relievo  that  was  destroyed  to- 
(liiy  I  have  worked  weeks  upon,  and  had  about  com- 
[)lc!tcd  it ;  but  now  it  is  gone,  and  I  shall  have  to  gi> 
liiiiigry,  for  (iod  only  knows  when  I  can  do  another, 
seeing  I  can  come  into  the  city  no  more." 

"  How  much  were  you  to  have  received  for  the 
.hiditii?" 

"  Ton  »^'w/t,  Signora — a  fortune  to  mo." 

The  lady  drew  a  heavily  fringed  puree  from  her 
pocket,  through  tho  meshes  of  which  shone  a  number 
of  gold  pieces,  and  opening  it,  she  counted  out  fifteen 
ncAidi,  and  put  thorn  in  tho  hand  of  the  hunchback, 
saying: 

"Take  these;  here  are  ten  seudi  for  your  mined 
work,  and  five  acudi  from  mo  as  a  gift.  It  will  last  you 
some  timo,  and  when  it  is  gone  come  to  me,  and  I  will 
see  how  I  can  help  you  again." 

"  O  Signora !  you  are  too  good,"  and  Hugo  dropped 
on  his  knees,  and  pressed  hor  robe  to  his  lips. 

"  Rise,  ray  friend.  Do  not  kneel  to  me ;  I  am  a 
sinner  like  you.  Kneel  only  to  God  and  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Now,  tell  me,  when  you  leave  the  city,  where 
will  yon  go?" 


Pi'; 


.-Mmms^tc<mimM 


M  TllK  ANdKh  OF  TIIK  CNUUCll. 

"To  my  littlo  liovol  on  Sun  Miiiiato.  Fiitlier  Ilfirio 
bIIowb  1110  to  Htiiy  thoro;  it  woh  Iniilt  for  tlio^ontH,  but 
it  h  vory  conifurtablu,  and  I  atu  thankful  for  buuIi  n 
nhultpr." 

"  If  you  arc  in  want,  nnd  daro  not  cotne  to  nio--for 
I  Inid  forgotten  tliat  you  woi-o  not  to  enter  tlio  eity — 
8ond  Futlier  Iliirio,  nnd  I  will  aid  you  through  him." 

"TiiankH  a  thousand  timcn,  Signora.  Oh,  if  you 
could  l)Ut  know  of  half  the  gratitude  that  tills  ujy 
heart  I " 

"  \)o  gratefid  to  (iod,  thtsn,  and  not  to  mo  ;  for  if  1 
have  done  aiight  of  g<xxl  to  you,  I  am  your  debtor  in- 
stead of  you  being  niino." 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,"  returned  Hugo,  shiver- 
ing, "for  1  could  see  only  the  Arno  before  me.  I  had 
resolved  to  die,  being  tiK)  wretched  to  live ;  and  I  was 
liastoning  there  when  the  open  door  of  this  church 
bade  mo  enter  and  pray,  before  I  hurried  my  poor  bouI 
into  eternity.  Your  words  and  deeds  of  kindness  have 
saved  me.  Henceforth  I  shall  try  to  live  and  bo  patient 
under  all  my  troubles.  1  shall  remember  always  the 
angel  of  tho  church,  and  pray  to  the  Virgin  to  bless 
and  protect  her." 

"  O  my  friend  !  call  me  not  the  angel  of  tho  church. 
I  am  but  a  poor  mortal  like  thee,  with  a  sorrow  that 
neither  kind  words  nor  gifts  of  money  can  case. 
AVould  to  God  that  human  sympathy  could  comfort 


f( 
o 
1) 
b 

l( 
a 
b 

P 
d 


i'  cnunvii. 

[iniiito,  riitlier  Ilftrio 
•uilt  for  tliogoHts,  liiit 
II  thankful  fur  bucIi  it 

)  not  como  to  njo — for 
not  to  outer  tl>o  city — 
1  you  through  him." 
siguora.      Oh,  if  you 
ratitudo  that  fills  my 

id  not  to  mo  ;  for  if  1 
,  I  am  your  dobtor  in- 

•etiirned  Hugo,  shiver- 
rno  hoforo  me.  I  had 
»cd  to  live;  and  I  was 
1  door  of  this  church 
I  hurried  my  pooreoul 
deeds  of  kindncsB  have 
y  to  live  and  bo  patient 
romombor  always  tho 
to  the  Virgin  to  bless 

le  angel  of  tho  church. 

lee,  with  a  sorrow  that 

of    money  can   case. 

inpathy  could  comfort 


THE  ANOBL  OF  THE  ClIVIlCll. 


33 


me;  .lion,  perhapfl,  I  should  not  ho  so  wrctrhod.  Ihit 
the  day  is  drawing  to  a  cloeo,  and  I  must  tinish  my 
jiiuycrs  before  I  leave  this  sacTcd  spot.  Taktj  this 
ring,  and  when  you  need  any  nssistancio,  send  it  by  a 
trusty  mesHongor,  and  I  will  aid  you  in  every  way  thiit 
lioH  within  my  power." 

Drawing  a  slciidor  gold  baud  from  her  white  fin- 
ger, she  laid  it  in  Hugo's  palm  as  she  continued  :  "  I 
am  Coutessa  Elena  Altimouti,  and  I  live  in  my 
father's  palaco  on  tho  Lung'  Arno.  Now,  farewell, 
and  may  you  bo  happy  aiul  prosperous  in  tho  future." 

Hugo  leaned  against  the  altar  railing  and  watched 
her  as  she  passed  out  of  sight  into  a  side  chapel,  whither 
sho  went  to  pray ;  and  when  tho  last  gleam  of  her 
palo  blue  drapery  disappeared  ho  siglied  heavily,  and 
a  tear  rolled  slowly  down  his  cheek.  "  God,  the  Vir- 
gin, and  all  the  holy  saints  ble*»  lior  1  "  ho  exclaimed 
fervently  ;  then  pressing  tho  ring  to  his  lips  over  and 
over  again,  he  hid  it  with  the  gold  in  his  bosom,  and 
hobbled  away  with  a  lighter  heart  than  that  which 
beat  in  his  breast  when  ho  entered  tho  church. 

The  day  was  far  advanced,  and  the  sun  was  already 

low  in  the  west,  when  he  paused  half-way  up  the  steep 

ascent  of  San  Miniato,  and  looked  back  on  the  city 

below  him,  with  its  spires  and  domes  and   towers 

painted  with  dusky  gold,  from  tho  last  rays  of  the 

departing  day 
2* 


-■^^^I'^si^mii^^^Miit^^m'M^sik^^^ssm.ii^m^mm-  - 


34  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CHURCH. 

Tho  Arno  flowed  peacefully  ;  the  deep,  distant  mur- 
mur of  liu.nanity  fell  on  his  ear  like  the  revcrheration 
of  a  mighty  organ,  and  as  his  eyes  wandered  away 
toward  tho  purple  hills  of  Fiesole,  they  softened  again 
to  teai-8,  and  ho  said  in  a  sad,  broken  voice: 

«  Tlie  world  is  beautiful,  the  city  is  beautiful,  and 
large  enough  for  all.     Yes,  there  is  even  room  for  me, 
poor  unfortunate  though  I  am,  and  I  want  but  a  small 
place  to  work,  and  live  and  be  at  peace.    I  could  be 
happy  there.    Yes,  happy,  for  my  Creator  has  planted 
the  seeds  of  happiness  in  my  heart,  in  spite  of  ray  de- 
formed body,  if  these    miserable   children,  whom  I 
never  harmed,  did  not  drive  me  away  because  I  am 
more  wretched  than  they.     I  wonder  why  God  made 
life  so  easy  for  some  and  so  hard  for  others  1    Why 
did  the  accident  of  my  birth  and  my  deformity  place 
me  in  abject  want  and  suffering,  while  others,  with 
meaner  souls  and  less  appreciation  of  the  true  and 
beautiful,  live  in  luxury  and  refinement? 

« 1  am  tired  and  hungry,  and  I  must  go  to  my  hut 
among  the  tombs,  and  make  my  supper  off  the  coarsest 
fare,  provided  me  by  the  bounty  of  a  stranger,  while 
the  rich  eat  and  drink,  and  make  merry-and  yet  1  do 
not  hate  them  now.  A  little  while  ago  I  did;  my 
soul  was  full  of  dark  passions  at  my  wrongs  and  suffer- 
ings ;  but  that  angel,  the  Angel  of  the  Church,  dis- 
pelled the  demon  of  despair,  and  now  I  love  even 


I 


CHURCH. 

le  deep,  diatant  mur- 
ike  the  reverberation 
jyes  wandered  away 
!,  they  softened  again 
icn  voice : 

city  is  beantifnl,  and 
is  even  room  for  me, 
id  I  want  bnt  a  small 
it  peace,    I  conld  be 
y  Creator  has  planted 
irt,  in  spite  of  ray  de- 
le  children,  whom  I 
e  away  becanse  I  am 
3nder  why  God  made 
ird  for  others  1    "Why 
d  my  deformity  place 
ng,  while  others,  with 
ttion  of  the  true  and 
nement  ? 

I  mnst  go  to  my  but 
supper  off  the  coarsest 
ty  of  a  stranger,  while 
e  merry— and  yet  1  do 
while  ago  I  did;  my 
,  my  wrongs  and  suffer- 
el  of  the  Church,  dis- 
and  now  I  love  even 


THE  ANOEL  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


35 


those  who  harmed  me.  Yes,  I  love  all  humanity,  and 
if  I  had  the  power  given  me  to  curse  this  city  that 
icfus=e8  me  shelter  and  food  and  the  privilege  of  toil- 
ing within  its  walls,  I  would  not.  I  wish  it  no  harm. 
I  only  ask  to  be  allowed  to  live  and  die  in  peace." 

Turning  to  the  golden  light  of  day  that  still  lingered 
in  the  west,  he  drew  forth  the  money  that  he  had 
hidden  witli  the  ring,  and  looking  furtively  around  to 
see  that  no  one  was  near  him,  he  sat  down  on  a  stone 
by  the  wayside,  and  counted  it  over  and  over  again, 
pressing  each  piece  to  his  lips  before  he  returned  it  to 
his  bosom.  At  last,  when  he  came  to  the  ring,  he 
examined  it  closely,  and  saw  engraven  on  it  the  initials 
E.  A.,  and  underneath  them  a  coronet,  and  the  legend 
A  oruce  aalus. 

"  She  has  worn  it !  "  he  said,  kissing  it  reverently, 
"and  it  is  sacred  to  me.  Her  memory  will  be  a  con- 
stant blessing.  It  will  still  my  angry  passions ;  it  will 
make  me  calm  and  patient,  and  inspire  me  to  greater 
perfection  in  my  art.  I  have  not  a  bad  heart — God 
knows  I  have  not,  and  I  would  be  gentle  and  peace- 
able, if  I  was  not  provoked  into  frenzy  by  those  little 
demons  yonder.  O  Florence !  O  my  beloved  city !  and 
all  thy  beauties  that  I  have  worshipped,  shall  I  see  thee 
no  more  ?  Shall  I  enter  thy  gates  no  more  ?  Must  I 
remain  without,  like  a  soul  banished  from  paradise? 
Father  in  heaven,  this  is  hard  I    O  mother !  O  sainted 


4"b 


Si^^^smi^^is^i&^^is^SSi^^ai^^^^^-S^^S^M^0^^ni-- 


jt>*a^- 


30 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  OnURGH. 


mother!  intercede  with  the  Virgin  to  sorton  their 
hearts,,  so  that  I  may  return  again." 

Wiping  away  the  tears  which  bedewed  his  face  plen- 
tifully, and  with  another  long,  lingering  look  into  the 
plain  below,  now  one  golden  river  of  light  from  the 
last  level  beams  of  day,  he  turned  his  weary  steps 
again  toward  the  solemn  and  majestic  pile  of  San 
Miniato  al   Monte,  that   rose  before  him  nearly   to 

heaven. 

Approaching  the  Church  of  San  Salvador,  he  stopped 
suddenly,  overcome  with  a  nameless  fear,  for  an  object 
prone  npon  the  ground,  in  the  shadow  of  a  cypress, 
attracted  his  attention,  and  it  bore  the  mysterious  and 
startling  outline  of  a  human  form,  still  and  rigid,  and 
destitute  of  the  flexible  curves  of  sleep  or  weariness. 

Drawing  nearer,  his  limbs  trembling  with  terror, 
Hugo  knelt  beside  the  prostrate  form,  and  in  the  gath- 
ering darkness  discerned  that  it  was  a  woman  with  a 
babe  in  her  arms. 

The  mother  was  unconscions,  perhaps  already  dead  ; 
but  the  child  was  sleeping  peacefully,  as  though  it  re- 
posed upon  a  bed  of  down,  with  its  warm  red  mouth 
pressed  against  a  breast  as  cold  and  white  as  marble. 

"  Angel  of  God  1 "  exclaimed  the  hunchback,  kneel- 
ing reverently,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  infant  with 
a  sort  of  greedy  admiration,  "how  lovely  1  how 
exquisitely  lovely  I      Wliat  gmce !    what  innocence  I 


cnuRGH. 
■giti  to  scrton  their 

adewed  his  face  plen- 
gering  look  into  the 
er  of  light  fi*ora  the 
mod  his  weary  stops 
uajestic  pile  of  San 
)fore  him  nearly  to 

I  Salvador,  he  stopped 
388  fear,  for  an  object 
shadow  of  a  cypress, 
B  the  mysterious  and 
n,  still  and  rigid,  and 
sleep  or  weariness, 
■embling  with  terror, 
orm,  and  in  the  gath- 
was  a  woman  with  a 

erhapa  already  dead ; 

:ully,  as  thongh  it  re- 
its  warm  red  mouth 

tid  white  as  marble. 

,he  hunchback,  kneel- 

es  on  the  infant  with 
"  how    lovely  1    how 

;e !    what  innocence  t 


Kt-^^wt^sHrti-T—ateaiftfaMaao  jr^t^ 


Tlia  ANGEL  OF  TUB  CHUIiCH. 


37 


What  softly  rounded  features!  what  matchless  out- 
lines 1  Oh!  if  I  might  have  this  cherub  for  a  model, 
I  need  go  no  more  to  the  city  to  copy  from  the  lifeless 

stone." 

Then  bending  lower,  he  peered  anxiously  into  the 
woman's  face,  and  laid  his  hand  over  her  heart  to  dis- 
cover whether  it  still  beat;  but  there  was  no  responsive 
throb  that  he  could  detect. 

"  She  is  dead,"  he  said  at  length  in  a  hollow  whisper, 
"  and  no  one  will  ever  know  if  I  take  the  child.    I  won- 
der if  it  will  be  wrong  ?  I  wonder  if  she,  the  Angel  of 
the  Church,  would  call  it  a  sin?  No!  no!  it  cannot  be; 
the  mother  is  dead,  and  will  never  know  if  I  take  the 
child.     She  is  some  poor  outcast.     The  society  of  La 
Misericordia  will  care  for  her  body,  and  the  babe,  if  I 
do  not  take  it,  will  be  sent  to  the  foundling  hospital. 
So  I  may  as  well  have  it.    I  will  be  kind  to  it,  and  I 
will  not  let  it  suffer  for  food  while  my  goat  yields  me 
onecnp  of  milk;  the  lovely  little angol  shall  have  it  all, 
even  if  I  go  h.ngry  myself.    It  is  but  a  little  thing, 
and  I  can  feed  it,  and  take  care  of  it  by  depriving  my- 
self, and  that  1  do  not  mind.    I  am  used  to  self-denial 
and  hunger ;  and  I  am  so  lonely,  now  that  I  can  go  no 
more  to  the  city ;  I  shall  find  the  days  so  long  and 
dreary,  and  this  little  creature  will  fill  my  heart,  and 
make  my  gloomy  hovel  bright  and  cheerful.    None 
will  know  where  to  look  for  it,  even  if  they  wish  to 


f  • ' 


Liri>- 


A,-«is«i^a**i^»*«*6tf^ft«t:*iast^^«s*' 


38 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


I; 


claim  it.  I  can  hide  it  in  my  Init,  and  model  the  moBt 
angelic  things  fiom  it  while  it  sleeps — and  I  fancy  it 
does  sleep  most  of  the  time.  See  how  it  smiles  in  its 
dreams,  and  reaches  out  its  little  hands  1  It  is  asking 
for  love  and  care — my  love  and  my  care,  and  it  shall 
have  both.  I  will  give  my  life  to  it,  my  worthless  life 
that  lias  so  far  been  only  a  cnrse  to  me.  To-day  God 
ha«  sent  me  two  angels.  Yes,  I  know  he  sent  the 
Angel  of  the  Church,  and  perhaps  this  sweet  child 
will  be  a  blessing  to  me  also.  I  will  take  it  and  leave 
the  result  to  God.  I  do  not  mean  to  do  wrong.  My 
heart  craves  sometliing  to  live  for,  and  this  child 
seems  as  helpless  and  abandoned  as  I  am.  How  can  1 
leave  it  here  on  its  dead  mother's  breast  ?  No  I  1  must 
take  it,  and  1  will." 

Looking  stealthily  around  to  see  that  no  one  was 
approaching,  he  snatched  the  child  from  the  rigid 
embrace  of  the  mother,  and  fled  with  it  into  the  dark- 
ness and  shadows  of  night,  trembling  with  the  guilty 
coiiscionsness  of  having  robbed  the  dead. 


tl 

V 

P 
li 

V 

k 

V 

a 

•V 
a 

6 
E 
t 


CHURCH. 

and  model  the  most 
ep8 — and  I  fancy  it 

how  it  smiles  in  its 
liands  !  It  is  asking 
ly  care,  and  it  shall 
it,  my  worthless  life 
0  me.  To-day  God 
know  he  sent  the 
ps  this  sweet  child 
ill  take  it  and  leave 
n  to  do  wrong.  My 
for,  and  this  child 
s  I  am.  How  can  1 
)rea8t  ?    No !  1  must 

ee  that  no  one  was 
lild  from  the  rigid 
?ith  it  into  the  dark- 
ling with  the  guilty 
» dead. 


THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTl. 


8» 


CHAPTER  HI. 


THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTl. 


BT  was  an  hour  after  midday,  and  the  Contessa 
Elena  Altimonti  was  receiving  her  most  inti- 
mate friends  in  a  magnificent  apartment  of 
her  father's  palace.  For  the  past  six  months  she  had 
been  in  retirement  in  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
and  had  bnt  just  returned  again  to  the  world. 

It  had  been  a  subject  of  considerable  discussion  in 
the  fashionable  society  of  Florence,  when  the  lovely 
vonn<»  countess  declared  her  intention  of  quitting  the 
pomps  and  vanities  of  the  wicked  world,  to  immure 
hei-self  for  several  months  within  the  walls  of  the  con- 
vent where  she  had  been  educated.  But  it  was  well 
known  among  her  friends  that  the  charming  contessa 
was  somewhat  eccentric,  and,  at  times,  piously  inclined  ; 
and  when  her  father  confessor  hinted  to  them  that  she 
was  weary  of  the  folly  and  excitement  of  her  gay  life, 
and  desired  a  time  of  silent  communion  with  her  own 
soul  apart  from  the  world,  and  that  it  was  only  natural 
she  should  return  again  to  the  calm  and  sacred  retreat 
that  had  sheltered  her  innocent  young  girlhood,  all 
speculation  ceased. 


ilit^Mi^^^MaieiiStd^s^^i^tiSiisg^s^Mt^ 


Ji'*" 


40 


THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTI. 


Wlien  six  months  had  passed,  and  she  returned 
again  to  her  world  of  gaudy  glitter  and  hollow  pleas- 
ures, all  her  friends  were  impressed  by  the  profound 
sadness  of  her  face,  as  well  as  her  weary,  listless  air. 
For  some  reason,  the  petted  child  of  fashion  had  lost 
her  interest  in  her  former  amusements,  and, declared 
often  that  she  preferred  the  solemn  silence  of  the  clois- 
ter to  the  gayest  ball  or  carnival,  and  the  holy  services 
of  the  church  to  the  most  brilliant  opera  that  had  ever 
been  performed. 

On  this  day  of  which  we  write,  she  was  to  receive 
for  the  first  time  since  her  return,  dressed  in  her  usual 
rich  and  tasteful  fashion,  which  was  due,  on  this  occa- 
sion, more  to  the  efforts  of  her  maid  than  to  any  wish 
of  her  own  heart.  She  was  beautiful,  and  she  could 
not  help  knowing  it,  for  she  had  heard  it  repeated 
over  and  over  by  the  gay  young  nobles  who  frequented 
her  father's  palace  to  bask  for  a  blissful  hour  in 
her  bright  smiles,  which  she  seemed  to  bestow  on  all 
alike. 

As  she  sat  at  the  window  of  the  elegant  salon,  one 
elbow  resting  on  a  small  table  before  her,  and  her  chin 
pressed  in  her  open  palm,  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
distant  sky,  instead  of  the  garden  below,  filled  with 
flowers,  and  musical  with  the  tinkling  of  fountaine, 
whose  waters  fell  over  beds  of  lilies  resting  on  moss 
and  fairy-like  ferns ;  and  her  face  had  the  absorbed, 


l.^ 


i-ig^n  n  Ml 'Vf  .1fr~V  "^yr 


IMONTI. 

3,  and  she  returned 
ter  and  hollow  pleaa- 
jsed  by  the  profound 
er  weary,  listless  air. 
d  of  fashion  had  lost 
cnicnts,  and  declared 
in  silence  of  the  clois- 
and  the  holy  services 
t  opera  that  had  ever 

te,  she  was  to  receive 
,  dressed  in  her  usual 
vas  due,  on  this  occa- 
laid  than  to  any  wish 
.utiful,  and  she  could 
ad  heard  it  repeated 
lobles  who  frequented 
'  a  blissful  hour  in 
med  to  bestow  on  all 

he  elegant  salon,  one 
Pore  her,  and  her  chin 
yes  were  fixed  on  the 
en  below,  filled  with 
inkling  of  fountaine, 
lilies  resting  on  moss 
ce  had  the  absorbed, 


THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTL 


41 


absent  expression  of  one  whose  thoughts  wore  far  away 
from  the  scenes  that  surrounded  her. 

She  should  have  been  joyous  and  light-hearted, 
living  as  she  did  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity. 
Young,  beautiful,  and  beloved,  what  more  had  the 
world  to  give  her?  And  yet  her  sad  face  and  abstracted 
manner  told  plainly  that  a  secret  grief  was  hidden  in 
the  heart  that  beat  so  wearily  under  her  rich  robes. 

«  Ah,  sweet  cousin  1  how  happy  I  am  to  see  yoiv 
again  in  your  old  place,"  cried  a  young,  fresh  vc»ice ; 
and  a  handsome  youth  entered  the  room,  who  seized 
the  white  hands  of  the  Countess,  and  pressed  them 
again  and  again  to  his  lips.  •  ' 

«  And  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  dear  Enrico ! "  returned 
the  Countess,  rising,  with  a  smile  that  betrayed  some 
pleasure,  to  receive  her  visitor. 

«  How  could  you  be  so  cruel,  Elena,  as  to  withdraw 
the  light  of  your  presence  from  us  all  this  while, 
leaving  us  to  pine  in  darkness  while  we  waited  for 

your  return?"  " 

"  To  try  your  devotion  and  affection,"  returned  the 
lady,  at  the  same  time  asking  her  cousin  to  take  a  chair 
near  her,  "for  you  know  we  prize  the  sunlight  more 
after  many  cloudy  days,  and  I  wished  to  see  if  it 
would  be  so  with  my  friends;  if,  instead  of  forgetting 
me  during  ray  brief  absence  from  them,  they  would  b© 
longing  for  a  sight  of  me  again."  f 


■»»ia^,a8^»ii»<fesa^ajsai!aiaigjiiiafet^ia^^ 


il  THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTI. 

"  Ah,  cousin,  yon  have  been  tw  cniel ;  and  such  a 
test  were  useless,  for  you  well  know  that  wo  think  but 
of  you,  and  woi-ship  you,  whether  preKent  or  absent." 

"  The  old  story,  Enrieo— flattery  and  protestations  ; 
and  I  presume  you  love  me  not  a  whit  better  for  it  all. 
A  little  cool,  calm  friendship  would  please  me  better 
now,  not  having  listened  to  these  extravagances  for 
some  time." 

"  Of  course,  Elena,  it  is  the  old  story ;  what  else  can 
it  be  ? "  cried  the  young  man  passionately.  "  You  well 
know  I  adore  you.  But  of  what  use,  seeing  I  am  poor 
and  your  father  would  wed  you  to  a  rich  husband  ? " 

"  Which  he  never  will  do  with  my  consent,"  re- 
turned the  Countess  firmly.  "  Enrico,  I  am  resolved 
never  to  marry,  and  at  times  I  think  seriously  of 
devoting  myself  to  a  religious  life." 

"Oh,  say  not  so,  cousin;  that  would  be  impossible. 
You  are  not  in  the  least  fitted  for  such  a  vocation ;  why, 
you  would  beat  yourself  to  death  against  your  prison 
bars  in  a  little  while," 

"Nay,  Enrico,  for  I  would  have  no  desire  for  free- 
dom ;  the  peaceful  calm  of  the  cloister  suits  me  now 
better  than  the  tumult  of  the  gay  world." 

"  How  so,  sweet  cousin  ?  You  were  not  inclined  to 
Buch  a  life  a  short  while  ago.  I  remember  when  you 
were  the  merriest  of  us  all." 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  1  was  merry  once;  but  we  all 


■iMlllrtir--ri|--T~~'^ '^"' 


I 


VLVONTI. 

too  cruel ;  and  snch  a 
low  that  wo  think  but 
r  prcKent  or  absent." 
iry  and  protestations ; 
I  whit  better  for  it  all. 
ould  please  me  better 
ese  extravagances  for 

I  story ;  what  else  can 
sionatclj.  "  You  well 
use,  seeing  I  am  poor 
;o  a  rich  husband  ? " 
ith  my  consent,"  re- 
ilnrico,  I  am  resolved 
I  think  seriously  of 

r.  » 

would  be  impossible, 
such  a  vocation ;  why, 
h  against  your  prison 

^0  no  desire  for  free- 
cloister  suits  me  now 
world." 

.  were  not  inclined  to 
remember  when  you 

ry  once;  but  we  all 


TII/S  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTI. 


43 


change,  and  the  gay  become  grave,  and  the  grave  gay. 
I  am  but  obeying  a  law  of  nature.  Ilowever,  wo  will 
ntit  talk  so  sadly  on  this  our  first  meeting  after  my  ab- 
sence. Tell  nio  something  of  the  gay  world,  of  what 
has  happened  these  last  six  months." 

"  A  great  deal  must  have  happened  certainly,  but  I 
made  no  note  of  passing  events  while  you  were  gone. 
1  thought  only  of  you  night  and  day." 

"  Foolish  again,  Enrico.  Now  tell  me,  how  is  the 
pretty  little  Marchesa  whom  you  admired  so  ardently 
six  months  ago?" 

"  The  Marchesa  ?  Oh  !  that  is  all  over.  It  is  true, 
I  admired  her,  but  only  en  passant.  She  is  be- 
trothed to  the  old  Count  Artiloni,  and  is  to  be  married 
soon." 

"  Poor  child  !  I  am  sorry  for  her,"  said  Elena  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Sorry  ? — pray  tell  me  why.  He  is  ricli  and  has  one 
of  the  finest  palaces  in  Florence." 

"  That  may  be,  but  it  is  the  greater  cause  for  pity, 
for  it  plainly  shows  that  she  has  sold  her  youth  and 
beauty  to  his  old  age  and  decrepitude  for  sordid  gain — 
for  gold  and  jewels."  =,  - 

"  But  the  world  does  not  look  at  it  in  that  way," 
cried  Enrico  astonished. 

"  No,  perhaps  not,  for  the  world  has  only  eyes  for  its 
own  interests,  and  gold  and  pomp  is  the  god  it  wor- 


■ateitf  <«»*sru*i^  afi«a»as<«sate»s^  -  "*' 


[i^ 


M 


TUB  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTl, 


flliipB.    O  Enrico  I  I  would  rathorbo  the  veriest  l^oggar 
than  to  BO  (Icprndc  myself." 

"  And  yet,  Elena,  nunr.r  flays  that  yon  arc  about  to 
practise  what  yon  so  strongly  condemn." 

"  1  ?— how  BoT'  cried  the  Countess  in  astonishment. 

"  Then  yon  do  not  know  that  the  Duko  of  Castellura 
has  returned." 

«  My  God !  is  that  true  1 " 

«  Yes,  ho  came  back  a  few  days  ago,  wearied  enough 
with  his  diplomatic  mission  at  Vienna;  and  they  say 
ho  has  renewed  his  suit  for  yoin-  hand,  and  that  tho 
Count,  your  father,  looks  favorably  u^wn  his  proposi- 
tion." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  it,  and  I  scarce  think  such 
an  arrangement  can  be  made  without  consulting  mo," 
replied  tho  Countess  proudly. 

"  It  would  appear  so,"  said  Enrico  thoughtfully ; 
"and  yet  you  know  my  uncle's  character.  Even  you, 
his  only  child,  whom  ho  loves  to  distraction,  have  no 
power  to  change  him  when  he  has  once  decided  on  any 
course." 

«  Yes,  that  is  true,"  sighed  Elena.  "  Alas  1  1  know 
too  well  how  vain  it  is  to  try  to  move  him." 

"  Your  sad  experience  of  a  year  ago  with  the  young 
English  lord  taught  you  that.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  for  refusing  his  suit ;  he  w^asboth  rich  and  noble, 
and,  Elena,  I  always  thought  you  loved  him." 


to 
II!  I 

br 

sii 

no 
dc 
vi 
he 
cr 

dt 

nc 
fa 

th 

nc 
Hi 
sn 
hi 


^_^^^^  --■^-f.tuiote^'^ 


'ONTf, 

3  tho  veriest  l>egf;ar 

it  yon  ftro  about  to 

mil." 

!B8  in  aBtonishnient. 

Duko  of  Castellura 


go,  wearied  enongli 

jnna ;  and  thoy  say 

hand, and  that  tho 

ujwn  his  propofli- 

I  flcarcc  tliink  snch 
ont  consnlting  mo," 

irico  thonghtf nlly ; 
iractor.  Even  you, 
listraction,  have  no 
once  decided  on  any 

I.  "Alasl  1  know 
ve  him." 

ago  with  the  young 
jre  seemed  to  be  no 
both  rich  and  noble, 
oved  him." 


77/A'  t'ALAZXO  ALTIHONTI. 


M 


"  I  did,  cousin,"  replied  the  Coiintcrts  in  a  low  voice, 
turning  away  her  head  io  conceal  her  droadfid  pallor. 
"  And  I  entreated  my  father  on  my  knees  to  allow  mo 
to  become  his  wife,  but  he  refused  his  consent  coldly 
and  sternly,  in  spite  of  my  tears  antl  prayers." 

"  I'oor  Elena  I  "  said  Enrico  tenderly.  "  It  almost 
broke  your  heart,  I  well  know,  for  you  have  never 
since  been  the  same." 

"  It  was,  indeed  a  cruel  blow,  for  I  loved  him  as  I 
never  shall  lovo  another.  And  when  I  heard  of  hia 
death  a  few  months  ago,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  sur- 
vive him;  but  I  am  still  living,  for  the  young  and 
healthy  cannot  die,  even  though  their  hearts  aro 
crushed  and  withered." 

"Elena,  did  you  ever  Buspoct  that  he  was  unfairly 
dealt  with  1 " 

"  Hush !  for  God's  sake,  cousin  ;  you  do  not  mean — 
no !  you  cannot  mean  that  hia  life  was  sacrificed  to  my 
father's  ambition." 

"  No,  cousin,  not  to  your  father's  ambition,  but  to 
the  vengeance  of  tho  Duke  of  Castellara,  who  coidd 
not  forgive  him  for  being  your  accepted  lover.  He 
lingered  in  Florence  so  long  after  tho  refusal  of  hia 
suit,  that,  perhaps,  the  Duke  feared  you  might  flee  with 
him  to  England,  in  spite  of  your  father's  commands." 

"  But  you  remember  the  manner  of  his  death  ? " 

"  Certainly  j  he  was  attacked  by  brigands  in  a  pass 


.  ■if^s^ji;.iJU**iw*=.*fi?i4W(*i<.is.' 


■K-^jataMiai^v^'^r'f.-^V ' 


40 


TUBS  PALAZZO  ALT  f  MO  NTT. 


of  tho  A|»oiiniiit.'H,  uiul  wiw  Hhctt  <l<»wn  iit'tL-i'  ii  j^mIIumI 
(lofeiico ;  all  Florunco  ruii|^  with  tho  Btor}'  of  \\\^ 
biiivery." 

"Thou,  ill  Ileavcii's  tiiimo,  how  could  tho  Diiko  of 
(^i.^tclliira  hav<)  hml  iinvtliiii}^  to  do  with  tliin  tra-^ic 
iiiid  I'l'arful  doiith  aiiuiii^  tlio  inoiintahis  ;  for  at  that 
viMj  timo  tho  U'iiko  waa  here,  i)crsocutiiig  mo  with  hio 
hateful  attentiniirt." 

"(lod  kiu)W«,  coiiHiii,  I  do  i\ot  wish  to  aociiso  any 
man  uf  a  crimo  that  ho  may  be  innoeont  of ;  but  it  id 
my  opinion,  and  it  may  remain  a  Becrot  between  nB,  that 
tho  brigands  in  tho  mountain  pa&s  wcro  no  brigands  at 
all,  but  miniona  of  tho  Duko,  hired  to  talvo  tho  life  of 
your  lover! " 

"Holy  Mother  in  Heaven  I  and  my  father  woidd 
sauriiico  me  to  the  monster  who  has  murdered  tho 
only  man  I  havo  over  loved !  O  Enriuo !  this  is  too 
torrililo." 

"  Hush !  dear  cousin,  calm  yourself ;  for  visitoi-s  may 
arrive  at  any  moment,  and  you  would  not  wish  them 
to  witness  your  agitation."  ,j. 

"  Ah  1  it  is  easy  to  bid  mo  be  calm  ;  bnt  if  you  conld 
see  the  tempest  raging  within  my  soul,  you  would  know 
how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  follow  your  advice.  En- 
rico, dear  cousin,  I  am  most  unhappy  \  I  am  territied  at 
the  gulf  before  me,  and  my  past  haunts  me  ceaselessly. 
This  world  has  uo  further  happiness  for  mo ;  fashion 


S-' 


lowu  after  a  j^ftUuiit 
:li   tlio   etury   of   his 

f  could  thi)  Diiko  of 
do  with  tliirt  tra^'ic 
iiiitiiiiis  ;  for  at  that 
Bocuting  1110  with  \m 

wish  to  aaciiBo  any 
inocnnt  of  ;  but  it  '\« 
crot  botwooii  us,  tliat 

were  no  brigandB  at 
id  to  take  the  life  of 

id  my  fatlior  wo\dd 
)  has  niurdured  the 
'  Em-iuo !  this  is  too 

self ;  for  visitore  may 
vould  not  wish  them 

Im  ;  but  if  yon  could 
joiil,  you  would  know 
DW  your  advice.  En- 
jy  ?  I  am  torritied  at 
launts  me  ceaselessly, 
ucss  for  me ;  fashion 


77/A;  PALAXXO  Ann  MONTI. 


47 


iiiiil  -ph'iidor  aro  but  (!mi»ty  wordu  ;  wealth  T  do  not 
viihiL',  unloHS  I  can  une  it  for  tiio  pwul  <if  othiTs.  Lite 
liiw  lost  its  savor ;  at  twenty  I  am  old  and  weary ; 
tiicn,  why  should  I  linger  in  a  world  that  has  nothin-^ 
to  jjivo  nie<  Is  it  not  true  that  the  cloister  is  a  nttin<^ 
pla(to  for  mo  I" 

"Ah  I  poor  Elena,"  returned  Enrico,  wipinj;  away  a 
Biidden  tear.  "If  '  could  make  you  happy,  I  would 
gladly  K'^'"  ">y  '■'"  '*'  ^'"  **"'  f*"'  '''  '*  worthless  when 
you  suffer;  but  1  can  do  nothinf^,  save  to  kneel  at 
your  dear  feet  and  offer  you  my  heart's  unselfish  de- 
votion, my  friendship,  my  brotherly  love.  You  must 
bear  your  burden  as  you  best  can,  trusting  to  mo  to 
lighten  it  all  that  lies  within  my  power. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  friend— my  brother,  if  you 
will.  Now  that  I  know  I  have  one  true  heart  to  lean 
upon,  I  will  try  and  live,  if  not  for  myself,  for  others. 
Only  yesterday,  I  thought  it  would  be  possible  for  mo 
to  still  find  some  happiness  on  earth,  for  1  saw  another 
more  wretched  than  myself,  whose  sorrow  I  softened 
and  whose  teai-s  1  dried." 

"  Sweet  cousin,  it  may  be  your  mission  on  earth  to 
make  others  happier  through  your  angelic  ministra- 
tion ;  but  tell  me,  pray,  who  was  the  happy  recipient 
of  your  kindness." 

"  One  who  needed  it,  Enrico.  At  Ave  Maria  I  went 
to  Santo  Spirito  to  pray,  and  just  as  I  was  about  to 


;^55irS*S«»^S(M*SW'rf»SW'--,««Waf^ii>«"  ' 


I 

I 

it 

u 


i 


'A 
Sal 


48 


IJJE  PALAZZO  ALTIUONTT. 


kneel,  I  heard  such  lieartrending  sobs  near  mu,  that  I 
turned  to  see  who  was  in  such  bitter  trouble;  and 
there,  prone  before  the  altar,  I  saw  a  poor,  defoi-nied 
creature,  weeping  and  praying  pitifully.  1  spoke  to 
him  gently,  and  he  raised  a  sorrow-stricken  face  to 
mine— such  a  pained,  worn  face  as  1  never  saw  before  ; 
it  has  haunted  me  ever  since  with  its  patient,  resigned 
expression— like  that  of  a  poor  animal  that  has  re- 
ceived only  blows  and  cruelty,  and  expects  nothing  else." 
"  Ah !  be  was  happy,  cousin,  to  receive  your  sweet 
sympathy.  Tell  me,  pray,  what  was  the  cause  of  his 
grief,  for  all  that  interests  you  finds  a  responsive  echo 
in  my  own  heart." 

"  He  told  me  such  a  tale  of  wrong  and  injustice  that 
my  very  soul  burned  with  indignation.  Think  of  it, 
Enrico,  he  is  frightfully  deformed,  utterly  friendless 
and  poor,  abandoned  by  his  father,  who  betrayed  and 
deserted  his  mother,  and  left  her  to  die  in  poverty  of  a 
broken  heart.  He  is  an  artist,  and  only  asks  to  be 
allowed  to  work  in  peace  at  his  humble  occupation, 
which  is  copying  in  stone  the  statues  in  the  squares 
and  churches ;  but  the  children  about  the  streets  tor- 
ment him  so,  that  he  cannot  remain  long  enough  in 
one  place  to  complete  his  work.  Sometimes,  he  con- 
fesses that  his  temper  gets  the  better  of  him,  and  that 
he  resents  the  indignities  heaped  upon  him.  Yester- 
day an  officer  came  upon  him  just  as  he  was  about  to 


~  '  i7aij=fi^>'**«eff?.5*w!ift*a*?.' 


MONTI. 

>b3  near  mu,  that  I 
(ittcr  trouble ;  and 
,v  a  poor,  defoi'uied 
ifuUy.  1  spoke  to 
>w-8tricken  face  to 
I  never  saw  before  ; 
its  patient,  resigned 
iniuial  that  has  re- 
spects nothing  else." 
receive  your  sweet 
as  the  cause  of  his 
is  a  responsive  echo 

g  and  injustice  that 
ition.  Think  of  it, 
I,  utterly  friendless 
',  who  betrayed  and 
»  die  in  poverty  of  a 
nd  only  asks  to  be 
humble  occupation, 
,tues  in  the  squares 
30ut  the  streets  tor- 
ain  loup-  enough  in 
Sometimes,  he  con- 
er  of  hira,  and  that 
upon  hira.  Yester- 
;  as  he  was  about  to 


.«^,4iAa».^MriMb^iieVHr'<-  v:r*'i^if -'■iHi'^ 


THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTI. 


49 


punish  a  child  who  had  tormented  hiui  beyond  all 
oiulurance,  and  instead  of  chastising  the  real  offenders, 
this  minion  of  the  government  threatened  the  poor 
liunchback  with  prison,  if  he  did  not  leave  the  city  at 
once,  thereby  dei)riving  the  suffering  creature  from 
earning  his  daily  bread  in  the  only  way  that  he  can. 
Such  injustice  filled  me  with  contempt  for  those  who 
have  authority  over  the  weak  and  helpless.  Is  there 
no  way,  cousin,  in  our  good  city,  where  God  has  given 
us  so  much,  that  the  poor  and  defenceless  can  be  pro- 
tected against  such  cruel  oppression  ?  " 

"  You  ask  me  a  question  difficult  to  answer,  Elena. 
The  poor  are  powerless  in  the  hands  of  the  rich.  We 
cannot  change  the  statn  of  society  ;  only  such  angels  as 
yourself  can,  with  oaintly  charity,  soften  a  little  their 
hard  lot."  - 

"Ah!  if  I  could  but  devote  myself  to  such  a  work 
in  peace.  If  my  father  would  permit  me  to  remain  as 
1  am,  I  think  I  might  be  good  and  patient ;  but, 
Enrico,  1  feel  that  there  ''re  slumbering  fires  in  mo 
tliat  may  burst  forth  at  any  moment.  If  I  am  com- 
pelled to  marry  the  Duke  of  CastcUara,  I  am  lost;  my 
nature — my  very  soul,  rebels  against  it,  and  if  I  am 
sacrificed  to  liis  ambition  and  pride,  it  will  not  be  the 
soul  of  Elena  Altimonti  that  will  inhabit  my  wretched 
body,  but  a  cruel  demon  that  will  avenge  my  ruined 

life  on  all  mankind." 

3  • 


itS^^a^tejti^^iii^iiiliaiie.m'&miii-'^ihsAvtei^UiSiaiim^ 


Ji. 


ft 


50  THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTI. 

"Hash!  hush!  dear  cousin,  do  not  ei)eak  snch 
dreadful  words!"  cried  Enrico,  springing  to  her  side, 
and  taking  her  cold  hands  in  his,  for  she  had  fallen 
back  in  her  chair,  pale  and  exhausted  from  her  strong 

emotion.  n  «  in' 

"They  may  seem  terrible,  but  they  are  truthtuU 
Bhe  returned,  looking  at  him  steadily  with  gloomy 
eyes  "It  is  the  protest  of  my  better  nature  agaiust 
Buch  a  sacrilege  ;  and  you,  my  cousin,  can  bear  wltnc.. 
in  the  futurp,  that  on  this  day  I  was  truthful,  charita- 
ble and  even  patient  and  resigned  under  my  sorrow  ; 
that  I  would  have  lived  a  good  life  if  I  could  have 
done  so;  that  I  would  have  been  gentle,  humble,  and 
holy,  if  iny  father  had   not  forced  me  to  marry  a 

demon." 

"  But,  cousin,  he  has  not  done  so  yet ;  rumor  maj 

be  false."  _ 

«  No  it  is  not.    I  have  a  premonition  of  my  tate.     i 
was  separated  from  the  man  I  loved,  to  be  given  to 
Castellara,  because  he  is  richer  and  more  powerfu 
than  the  other-because  he  is  Ferdinand's  favorite  and 

a  duke." 

«  But  vou  can  resist  your  father's  wishes  ;  you  can 
rebel  against  his  authority.  There  is  no  law  to  compel 
you  to  obedience." 

«  Alas !  Enrico,  I  know  too  well  how  useless  it  is  to 
struggle  against  his  will  1    I  am  doomed  to  become  the 


■i 


■s\ 


'-•»rrtti{i-*jfH>r-t^'"^'  •**"♦' 


;,afei^ifc^H»-»mafe*i'»*>l  iTirnMWaBgg-"' 


-.^jtSag=,»-S.fe?£U^;i4«l^^  ■•'-' 


'IMONTI. 


THE  PALAZZO  ALTIMONTl. 


51 


do  not  ei)eak  sncli 
pringiMg  to  her  side, 
is,  for  she  had  falleu 
isted  from  her  strong 

they  are  truthful!" 
iteadily  with  gloomy 
better  nature  against 
)U8in,  can  bear  witness 
was  truthful,  charita- 
led  under  my  sorrow  ; 
.  life  if  I  could  have 
u  gentle,  luimble,  and 
:)rced  me  to  marry  a 

le  so  yet;  rumor  maj 

nonition  of  my  fate.  1 
[loved,  to  be  given  to 
jr  and  more  powerful 
erdinand's  favorite  and 

.ther's  wishes  ;  you  can 
tere  is  no  law  to  compel 

well  how  useless  it  is  to 
n  doomed  to  become  the 


Avife  of  a  man  T  abhor.  1  have  opened  my  heart  to 
you,  but  it  cannot  in  any  way  change  niy  lot.  1  may 
as  well  submit  to  the  inevitable  without  a  murmur. 
You  only  have  listened  to  the  moanings  of  my  heart, 
and  you  will  keep  my  secret.  Wlien  you  see  me  in 
the  gay  world  apparently  happy  and  contented,  you 
will  know  then  that  my  soul  is  but  a  chaos  of  sin  and 
misery,  and  you  will  pity  me  and  remember  this  hour. 
Hark  !  there  are  carriage-wheels  in  the  court ;  visitors 
are  arriving,  and  they  must  not  find  the  Countess 
Elena  sad  and  distraite,  or  they  will  think  that  I  mourn 
for  my  dead  lover— and  that  is  not  allowed  in  this  false 
world." 

Enrico  srave  his  hand  to  his  cousin,  his  eves  full  of 


r"       orrow  and  his  heart  heavy  with  her  trouble.     "  Y 


on 


;now  you  can  always  count  on  my  fidelity  and  love,'' 
he  said,  in  a  broken  voice ;  and  then,  with  a  tender 
pressure  of  her  cold  fingei-s,  he  turned  away  and  left 
her  alone,  as  proud  and  calm  as  though  no  mighty 
wave  of  emotion  had  ever  swept  over  her  soul. 

The  day  before,  at  that  very  hour,  she  had  stood  in 
the  Church  of  Santo  Spirito,  and  Hugo  had  called  her 
an  angel ;  but  now  the  haughty  face  and  mien  bore 
little  resemblance  to  the  divinely  compassionate  figure 
that  had  bent  over  him  then. 

Standing  in  stately  dignity  in  the  centre  of  the  ele- 
gant salon,  her  beautiful  form  in  its  satin  drapery 


■^;^>^^^j^i^^^i£mii6^^:'aKi&Xiit-- ' 


Hi 


THE  DUKE  OF  CA8TELLABA. 


reflected  from  a  dozen  mirrors,  gold  and  glitter  around 
her,  the  air  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  strains 
of  distant  music  mingled  with  rippling  of  the  fountains 
soothing  her  soul  with  its  tender  melody,  she  calmly 
awaited  the  new-comer,  whoso  footsteps  she  heard  with- 
out, as  two  liveried  footmen,  with  great  ceremony,  threw 
open  the  door  and  announced  his  highness,  the  Duke  of 
Castellara. 


<'ff 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLARA. 


plE  Duke  of  Castellara  had  passed  by  some 
years  the  meridian  of  life,  although  he  did 
not  appear  an  old  man,  being  of  a  fine,  tall 
figure,  smooth,  florid  complexion,  and  quick,  vigorous 
movements.  His  well-shaped  head  was  covered  with 
thick,  closely-cut  gray  hair,  and  a  heavy  moustache,  well 
silvered,  partially  concealed  his  mouth,  which  was 
coarse,  cruel,  and  sensual  in  expression,  while  his  heavy 
jaw  and  muscular  neck  denoted  in  no  small  degree  the 
anima;l  in  his  nature,  which  was  fully  confirmed  by  the 
tigerish  glitter  of  his  small,  steel-colored  eyes. 
Although  the  favorite  of  the  Grand  Duke  Ferdinand 


,,a«SB*»ift*t«aSM;****«i 


j«»JS!UI9tf>«ai«»3~V!^>V*  * 


FELLABA. 

M  and  glitter  aronnd 
me  of  flowers,  strains 
>pling  of  the  fountains 
r  melody,  she  calmly 
•tsteps  she  heard  with- 
great  ceremony,  threw 
highness,  the  Duke  of 


THE  DUKE  OP  CA8TELLARA. 


53 


IV. 


ELLABA. 


had  passed  by  some 
life,  although  he  did 
n,  being  of  a  fine,  tall 
n,  and  quick,  vigorous 
lead  was  covered  with 
I  heavy  moustache,  well 
is  mouth,  which  was 
ression,  while  his  heavy 
in  no  small  degree  the 
fully  confirmed  by  the 
[-colored  eyes, 
jrand  Duke  Ferdinand 


was  called  a  handsome  man  by  the  fair  sex,  he  was  not 
exactly  pleasant  to  look  upon,  and  generally  inspired 
more  awe  and  admiration  than  affection.     lIis  reputa- 
tion as  a  diplomat,  oflicer,  and  gentleman  was  good ; 
but  his  private  character  was  execrable,  in  spite  of  the 
care  which  he  took  to  conceal  his  dark  doings.     There 
was  scarce  ever  a  duel  fought,  a  young  wife  dishonored, 
a  maiden  betrayed,  that  his  highness,  the  Duke  of  Castel- 
lara,  was  not  at  the  bottom  of  "it ;  and  it  was  well  known 
in  Florence  that  he  never  tolerated  a  rival,  either  hus- 
band or  lover.    Being  utterly  unscrupulous  and  pos- 
sessed of  enormous  wealth,  he  found  means  of  disposing 
of  those  who  came  between  him  and  his  desires  in  a  man- 
ner that,  tliough  it  did  not  place  a  public  stigma  upon 
him,  was  talked  over  and  well  undci-stood  .  .  private. 

Many  a  noble  lady  of  Florence,  in  spite  of  his  evil 
character,  had  coveted  his  title,  wealth,  jewels,  and 
palaces;  but  he  had  reached  his  fiftieth  year  without 
conferring  them  upon  any  one,  tliough  it  was  said  that 
Ferdinand  had  selected  more  than  one  excellent  j?ar<* 
for  him,  which  he  had  firmly  declined,  preferring  his 
freedom  to  the  most  honorable  alliance  that  could  be 
bestowed  upon  him. 

A  few  years  before  the  opening  of  our  story,  the 
young  Countess  Elena  Altimonti  had  flashed  suddenly 
upon  the  fashionable  world  of  Florence,  fresh  from  the 
lombre  shades  of  the  convent  where  her  childhood  and 


...  .f<r^«»MMKas«rf!i.«l<6EilK^««(^Sd«»i>t|l3^^^ 


I' 

I''-    ■ 


64 


THR  DUKE  OF  CA8TELLARA. 


girlhood  liftd  been  passed,  owing  to  the  death  of  her 
mother  sliortly  after  her  birth. 

Her  surpassing  beauty,  her  grace,  her  wit,  had  placed 
her  at  onco  on  the  very  snniinit  of  popularity,  and, 
before  she  had  been  in  society  one  season,  she  was  de- 
clared the  reigning  belle,  the  adorable  Contessa,  the 
Bwoetest  flower,  the  brightest  gem  that  had  ever  adorned 
the  fair  city  of  the  VaV  (TArno. 

Amonjr  her  most  devoted  suitors,  and  the  first  in 
the  field,  was  the  Duke  of  Castellara ;  but,  sti-ango  to 
say,  the  young  beauty  was  not  at  all  dazzled  either  by 
his  wealth,  title,  or  person,  and  treated  him  with  less 
consideration  than  she  did  her  very  humblest  lover. 

Before  her  first  season  was  over,  a  young  English- 
man, Lord  Challonner,  appeared  on  the  fashionable 
horizon,  who  bade  fair  to  rival  the  Duke  in  the  favor 
of  the  queen  of  beauty.  He  was  young,  handsome, 
brave,  generous,  and  rich,  though  his  wealth  could  not 
compare  with  the  Castellara  estate ;  however,  he  was 
not  a  suitor  to  be  despised  by  the  most  aspiring 
maiden.  ='  ^ 

Kumor  did  not  couple  the  young  lord's  name  par- 
ticularly with  that  of  the  Contessa  Elena  Altimonti, 
for  all  masculine  Florence  was  at  her  feet,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  fix  upon  any  one  who  received  marked 
favor.  Suddenly  the  pulse  of  the  gay  world  beat 
more  quickly  with  the  news  that  the  Duke  of  Castel- 


m 


iJ«!ilS*- -•-»--■!.  -. i»«*t5* 


<«)%-«)K»)^Si««S««Tf«<MMuMr>4«>> 


TELLARA. 

;  to  the  death  of  her 

;e,  her  wit,  had  placed 
t  of  popularity,  and, 
16  season,  she  was  de- 
►dorablo  Contessa,  the 
that  had  ever  adorned 

tors,  and  the  first  in 
Uara ;  but,  sti-ango  to 
all  dazzled  either  by 
treated  him  with  less 
!ry  luimblest  lover, 
rer,  a  young  English- 
l  on  the  fashionable 
the  Duke  in  the  favor 
ras  young,  handsome, 
li  his  wealth  could  not 
tate ;  however,  he  was 
►y  the  most  aspiring 

)ung  lord's  name  par- 
jssa  Elena  Altimonti, 
at  her  feet,  and  it  was 
who  received  marked 
the  gay  world  beat 
the  Duke  of  Castel- 


TUE  DUKE  OF  GA8TELLABA. 


55 


lara  had  offered  himself  to  the  proud  beauty,  and  had 

been  refused. 

"Can  yott  imagine  such  a  thing?"  cried  more  than 
one  intriguing  mamma.  "They  say  she  has  actually 
refused  Castellara.  What  presumption!  a  chit  of  a 
girl,  with  little  besides  her  title,  to  refuse  the  favorite 
of  Ferdinand— a  duke— and  a  rental  of  more  than  half 
a  million  scudi— why,  she  must  bo  insane  1 " 

Tlie  young  nobles  gathered  apart  and  discussed  it, 
secretly  glad  that  at  last  their  insolent  rival  had  re- 
ceived a  check  to  his  ambitious  hopes.    "However,  it 
is  no  use   to  congratiilate  ourselves,"  said   a  young 
marchese  to  Enrico  Altimonti.     "Your  cousin   will 
linish  %  marrying  him.     Castellara  is  invincible  and 
irrepressible;    he   never   sets  his  mind  on   anything 
but  what  he  succeeds  in  getting  it.    Why,  it  is  even 
said  that  he  had  the  impudence  to  bid  against  the 
Grand  Duke's  equerry  at  the  sale  of  a  hoi-se,  though  he 
well  knew  his  royal  master  wanted  it.     Oh,  his  confi- 
dence is  something  sublime.     I  would  wager  my  roan 
mare  against  your  new  landeau  that  he  will  ultimately 
win  her  consent." 

"Time  will  show,"  replied  Enrico,  turning  away 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  angry  eyes. 

Not  long  after  the  startling  rumor  of  the  Duke's  re- 
fusal had  died  out,  another  of  hardly  less  interest  set 
the  tongues  of  all  the  gossips  wagging.    Lord  Challon- 


M*!,f*sS«**«SSt>*M«w»rt«»** 


„»»  -»»-i.3e8SS»s»»*i»=ii<&saSl*lBESSWl*.i#*»»^ 


•i*'\^ 


56 


THB  DUKE  OF  VASTELLABA. 


ner  liad  offered  hirriBolf  to  the  Contcssa.  "Whether  he 
liad  been  accepted  by  her,  no  one  kii' w ;  but  it  was 
generally  uiiderstood  that  her  father,  Count  Altunonti, 
had  received  liis  proposition  with  scorn,  and  refused 
him  his  daughter's  hand  in  the  most  decided  manner, 
forbidding  him  the  entree  to  his  palace,  and  oven 
going  so  far  as  to  prohibit  all  intercouree  between 
them  in  society. 

"IIo  is  reserving  her  for  Castellara,"  said  the 
worldly  wise.  "  The  old  Count  is  clever  ;  he  will  not 
allow  his  daughter  to  wed  a  lord  when  she  may  be- 
come a  duchess." 

But,  as  the  lovely  Contessa  appeared  in  society  as 
gay  and  beautiful  as  ever,  and  as  she  seemed  to 
avoid  Lord  Challoner,  the  idea  gained  ground  that  her 
affections  had  not  been  in  the  least  involved,  and  that 
she  too  shared  her  father's  ambitious  schemes,  and  had 
only  refused  the  Duke  out  of  girlish  caprice,  being 
sure  that  he  would  return  again  a  willing  captive  to 
her  charms. 

One  day  the  news  reached  Florence  that  Lord  Chal- 
lonner  had  been  shot  by  brigands  in  one  of  the  Apen- 
nine  passes,  during  a  short  excursion  from  Florence  in 
the  company  of  a  party  of  English  people. 

This  sudden  and  tragic  taking  off  of  one  who  had 
been  a  favorite  in  the  best  society  of  the  city  caused 
a  great  deal  of  excited  discussion.    Why  had  he  alone 


'ELLARA. 


TIIE  DUKE  OF  0A8TELLAHA. 


67 


iitcssa.  "Whether  he 
no  kii'nv ;  but  it  was 
ler,  Count  Altiinonti, 
I  scorn,  and  refused 
lOBt  decided  manner, 
lis  palace,  and  oven 
intercoui'se  between 

IJasteUara,"  said  the 
s  clever  ;  he  will  not 
d  when  she  may  be- 

peared  in  society  as 
as  she  seemed  to 
lined  ground  that  her 
,st  involved,  and  that 
ous  schemes,  and  had 
girlish  caprice,  being 
a  willing  captive  to 

•ence  that  Lord  Chal- 
in  one  of  the  Apen- 
ion  from  Florence  in 
li  people. 

r  off  of  one  who  had 

ty  of  the  city  caused 

Why  had  he  alone 


been  singled  out  for  the  murderer's  crnel  blow,  and  the 
otliers  allowed  to  escape  without  even  being  held  for  a 
ransom  ?  There  was  a  mystery  about  it  all  that  no  one 
could  solve ;  but  gradually  people  ceased  to  talk  or 
tliink  of  it,  for  a  new  8ul)ject  claimed  their  attention. 
The  Duke  of  Castellara  had  been  sent  by  Ferdinand 
on  a  diplomatic  mission  to  Vienna,  and  the  Contessa 
Elena  had  gone  into  retirement  during  his  absence. 
So  for  six  months  these  impo<:tant  pei-sonages  dropped 
out  of  their  little  world,  and  were  almost  as  seldom 
spoken  of  as  though  they  had  never  existed.  - 

Howf  vr",  the  wheel  of  time  slowly  and  surely 
revolved,  and  brought  the  Duke  and  the  Contessa 
Elena  again  to  the  snrface  of  society.  The  fair  re- 
cluse came  forth  from  her  retirement  lovelier  than  over, 
l)e(!auso  of  the  gentle  melancholy  that  invested  her 
with  a  new  charm,  adding  a  little  mystery  to  what 
before  was  as  clear  and  bright  as  day. 

Scarce  had  her  serene  beauty  beamed  again  on  the 
happy  hearts  of  her  adorere,  when  the  Duke  of 
Castellara  appeared  in  their  midst,  as  gay  and  alert, 
as  confident  and  insolent  as  ever,  and  the  lesser  stars 
drew  aside  with  diminished  lustre,  convinced  that  their 
ascendancy  was  over,  and  their  waning  light  quenched 
in  his  superior  brilliancy. 

When  the  Duke  of  Castellara  was  so  unexpectedly 
announced  to  the  Contessa  Elena,  after  the  departure 


,.-.<.-.jMasa>i»»gifefe!>».sj»a^aae-»<MiMSiw«td"^^ 


ft8 


THE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLAllA. 


y  of  hor  cousin,  hIio   tnriied  deathly  palo,  and   conld 

f  Bi;arcely  control   iier  nRitation.     Howovor,  licr  prido 

came  to  her  aid,  and  she  Bucccedod  in  roturninj?  his 

ccMirtly  grcctint,'  with  hor   usual   calm   and  graceful 

k  manner.  • 

"Now  the  Bun  slilncs  for  mo  again,"  cried   tho 
V  duke,  iircssing  his  lips  gallantly  to  her  hand,  and  bow- 

ing almost  to  the  ground.     "  And  I  have  not  seen  it 
since  I  last  looked  upon  your  lovely  face  ;  fio  you  may 
;  '  know  how  welcome  it  is  to  me." 

■V  « Indeed  1  then  is  it  always  dark  in  tho  gay  city  of 

Vienna?     I  had  thought  tho  sun  shone  there  as  it  does 
¥  I  overywhoro  else,"  returned  the  Contessa  coldly,  as  she 

'  seated  hei-sclf  and  toyed  with  her  fan  carelessly. 

I  «  Ah  1  yes,  for  othere,  but  not  for  mo.     Your  smile 

f  '  is  tho  only  sunlight  that  gladdens  my  eyes,"  said  the 

r  Duke,  as  he  drew  a  chair  near  her  and  slowly  seated 

himself,  regarding  her  closely  all  the  time. 

«  Your  remark  is  not  original,  Duke.  I  heard  tho 
same  sentiment,  expressed  in  almost  tho  same  lan- 
guage, not  a  half -hour  ago." 

"  Ah  1  then  some  other  adorer  has  been  here  before 
me.  I  hoped  to  be  the  fii-st  to  welcome  you,"  replied 
the  Duke  in  low,  even  tones,  still  searching  her  face 
with  his  cold,  glittering  eyes. 

Foi  a  moment  neither  spoke ;  then  tho  Duke,  bend- 
ing nearer  and  raising  his  glass,  said  with  meaning: 


.-njjssiasssfem--  ^msim  -■ 


-Mgtmi^maiamiaiS»iiigm¥t''i*t^^^ 


'SLLMIA. 

ily  palo,  and  conld 

llowcvor,  her  prido 

led  in  rotnrninji;  his 

cahn  and  gmccful 

3  n{i;aiii,"   cried   tho 

)her  hand,  and  how- 

I  have  not  seen  it 

ly  face  ;  80  you  may 

fk  in  tho  gay  city  of 
jhono  there  as  it  does 
ontessa  coldly,  as  she 

fan  carelessly. 
:or  mo.     Your  smile 
IS  my  eyes,"  said  the 
ler  and  slowly  seated 

the  time. 

1,  Duke.  I  heard  the 
imost  tho  same  Ian- 
has  been  here  before 
irelcome  you,"  replied 
ill  searching  her  face 

then  the  Duke,  bend- 
},  said  with  meaning : 


THE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLAJtA. 


59 


"  It  Rocms  to  mo,Conte8«a,  that  your  rctiroinont  has  not 
<|\iite  agreed  with  you.  You  are  lovelier  than  ever,  a 
tlioimand  times  more  adorable,  but  there  is  a  slight 
shade  over  your  beauty  that  was  once  so  dazzling 
that  we  p<Kir  mortals  could  scarce  look  at  it.  You  are 
a  little  paler,  a  little  (listraite,  a  little  melancholy— is 
it  not  soi" 

'*  Since  your  highness  has  done  mo  tho  honor  to 
inspect  mo  so  closely,  you  aro  surely  able  to  judge  for 
yoiuwlf,"  returned  tho  Ct)nte8sa,  rising  with  a  hot 
tliish  and  seating  herself  on  a  sofa  at  a  little  distance. 

With  imperturbable  gravity  and  coolness,  tho  Duke 
rose  and  seated  himself  by  her  side,  while  ho  made  an 
effort  to  take  her  hand. 

"  Duke,  you  forget  youi-self !"  cried  Elena  hotly,  her 
pale  face  burning  and  her  eyes  flashing  defiance  into 
his.  "  I  pray  that  you  will  return  to  your  former  seat. 
Y'our  familiarity  is  insulting." 

"Ah!  sweet  Elena,  what  severe  words  you  use. 
Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  here  as  your  accepted 
husband,  that  within  an  hour  your  father  consented  to 
my  proposition  and  promised  me  your  hand  ? " 

"  Duke,  I  beg  that  you  will  listen  to  me,  and  permit 
this  interview,  on  a  subject  I  dislike,  to  be  final." 

The  Duke  silently  bowed. 

"  I  regret  to  be  obliged  to  repeat  to  you  what  I  said 
a  year  ago,  but  you  compel  me  to  do  so.    My  father 


'mitKgS:&mm^lSi"i'i^ 


^sifc^»ji>S^I»ate*«-i.  .^.^,sft4wiK^s*iM!«ijEp*#*ifc= 


60 


TUK  DUKIS  OF  CASTBLLARA. 


cfttinot  dinpoBO  of  ii*^  hand  without  my  coiiBcnt,  and 
tluit  I  ret'iiso,  ns  1  did  tlion— docidodly,  irrovocubly." 

"  Puidoii  iiio,  ContcBsa,  for  renewing  ft  Bubjoct  ho 
diBugrecuhlo  to  you.  I  hoped  ore  tlii«  your  views  hud 
changed,  and  that  you  woukl  bo  disposed  to  obey  your 
father  and  make  nie  the  happiest  of  uiortala;  but  I 
perceive  you  are  as  little  inelined  to  listen  to  uio  now 
as  you  were  then." 

»  As  little,  and  oven  less,  your  highnoss,"  returned 
Elena  coldly. 

"  But  the  reason  that  decided  you  to  refuse  mo  then 
does  not  now  exist." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  and  the  ContCBsa  raised  her 
head  proudly.    "  Pray  do  not  speak  in  riddles ;  I  hate 
all  that  is  obscure." 
«  And  I  also." 

"  Then  explain  your  remark." 
«'  I  said  the  reason  does  not  exist." 
«  What  reason  ? " 

"  I  will  repeat  the  remark ;  the  reason  that  decided 
you  to  refuse  my  oflfcr  of  a  year  ago." 

"  This  fencing  with  your  words  is  not  agreeable  to 
me,"  replied  the  Contessa,  rising  suddenly  and  turning 
her  back  upon  her  tormentor,  while  she  looked  stead- 
ily from  the  window. 

"  Ah  1  now,  my  sweet  lady,  do  not  affect  to  misunder- 
stand me,"  said  the  Duke,  following  her.    "  Pray  be 


lb 


j<lH«rft%HI«l«S^&r. 


.TimimSiM' 


'BLLARA. 

out  my  coiiBont,  and 
lodly,  irrovocably." 
jticwiiig  ft  subjout  8() 
3  tliiii  your  views  had 
liHposcd  to  obey  your 
8t  (if  uiortnla ;  but  I 
I  to  li»teii  to  1110  now 

r  highness,"  returned 

'ou  to  rof  use  mo  tlien 

10  Conteasa  raised  her 
jak  in  riddles ;  I  hate 


THE  DUKE  OF  OASTKLLARA. 


61 


ist." 

e  reason  that  decided 
ago." 

Is  is  not  agreeable  to 
suddenly  and  turning 
diile  she  looked  stead- 
not  affect  to  misunder- 
iwing  her.    "  Pray  be 


seated  again,  and  I  will  make  my  words  plainer,  but 
perhaps  Icm  plinimint." 

Klona  Buffered  him  to  load  her  to  a  chair,  whore  she 
hcatod  hersulf  in  haughty  silentjo, 

"Since  tho  reason  does  not  exist,"  continued  the 
Duke  in  his  hard  polirthcd  tones. 

"  l'>ut  tho  rciiHon  docs  exist  1 "  interrupted  the  Con- 
tfssa,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  emotion, "  and  it  is  my 
aversion  to  you— 1  do  not  love  you.  I  repeat  what  I 
said  a  your  ago." 

"  A  year  ago,  it  is  true,  you  did  not  love  mo,  because 
you  loved  another." 

Elei\a  turned  deathly  pale,  but  made  no  reply. 
"  A  year  ago,"  continued  tho  Duke  in  his  icy  tones, 
"  you  loved  Lord  Challoinier." 

"llow  daro  you  make  such  an  assertion?  What 
authority  have  you  for  it ?" 

"  Your  retirement  from  tho  world  after  his  death, 
your  pale  cheek,  your  sad  air." 

The  Contessa  shivered  slightly  and  looked  resolutely 
away  from  the  demon  before  her. 

"  Do  not  avert  your  lovely  eyes.  1  see  that  I  have 
guessed  the  truth.    You  loved  him  and  you  mourn  for 

him  still." 

"Yes,  you  are  right.  I  loved  him  and  I  mourn  for 
him  still,"  cried  Elena,  pressing  her  hand  over  her 
lips  to  keep  back  her  sobs.    - 


fttjIWitMK''  '^"^'^^"^ 


!^*^emtarvtm'^^^^^  -<;A.«AiiO^«*fei;.e 


-*-^%r.atft>=**S'^  ^.-'Sfwf  ^*ft-^'  -^ 


-J^,i>^..  M» 


H  t 


i,. 


it 


v-t 


62 


THE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLARA. 


"  At  last,  then,  we  have  arrived  at  the  true  reason  for 
your  refusal  of  my  hand." 

"  Having  loved  him,  could  1  marry  his  murderer, 
think  you  1 "  and  tlio  Contessa  turned  her  flashing 
eyes,  from  which  the  tears  had  dried,  full  upon  the 
Duke,  as  though  :0;c  would  read  his  very  soul. 

For  a  moment  his  insolent  gaze  fell  beneath  her 
searching  look ;  then,  smiling  cruelly  and  sarcastically, 
he  said :  "  Pray  do  not  speik  in  riddles.  I  hate  all 
that  is  obscure." 

"  My  words,  Duke,  are  not  as  obscure  as  the  manner 
of  his  death,  or  the  mystery  surrounding  it." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  there  was  any  mystery.  1 
have  understood  that  he  was  killed  by  brigands— a 
common  enough  occurrence,  I  think,  in  this  country." 

"On  the  contrary, a  most  unheard-of  thing  in  such  a 
place.  They  must  have  been  hired  to  do  it  by  some 
one  who  desired  his  death." 

"  And  if  any  one  did  such  a  deed  for  love  of  yon, 
could  not  you  forgive  him,  and  return  such  a  passion  ?  " 

"  My  God  !  what  a  monstrous  thought.  Do  not  tor- 
ture my  ears  with  such  words.  I  fear  you.  I  hate 
yon,  and  I  pray  you  to  leave  my  presence ! "  cried 
Elena,  beside  herself  at  this  horrible  question. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Contessa,  I  am  but  jesting ;  and 
rest  assured  I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
death  of  your  lover,"  said  the  Duke,  soothingly. 


'    ,    < 


i*-a!»iSS3»S**t.f-'- 


rAi^as'H-'iftf^efes&ii-.iiSe- 


ELLARA. 

xt  the  true  reason  for 

narry  his  murderer, 
turned  her  flashing 
dried,  full  upon  the 
is  very  soul, 
ze  fell  beneath  her 
illy  and  sarcastically, 
riddles.     I  hate  all 

jscure  as  the  manner 
mding  it." 
was  any  mystery.  1 
lied  by  brigands — a 
Ilk,  in  this  country." 
ird-of  thing  in  such  a 
ed  to  do  it  by  some 

leed  for  love  of  yon, 
urn  such  a  passion  ?  " 
honght.  .  Do  not  tor- 
I  fear  you.  I  hate 
ny  presence !  "  cried 
3le  question, 
im  but  jesting;  and 
tever  to  do  with  the 
ke,  soothingly.      ,, . 


TEE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLABA. 


63 


«  I  implore  you  to  leave  me,"  continued  Elena,  now 
pale  and  weeping,  "  or  you  will  compel  me  to  retire 
from  your  presence." 

"  As  you  will,"  and  the  Duke,  bowing  low,  turned 
toward  the  door.  "For  the  present,  I  will  leav>  you, 
since  you  wish  it ;  but  I  pray  that  you  will  endeavor  to 
overcome  your  repugnance  to  me,  as  it  will  be  decid- 
edly uncomfortable  when  I  am  your  husband." 

Tlie  Contessa  pressed  her  hands  together,  striving  to 
recover  her  composure  as  she  said,  with  forced  calmness  : 
«  Once  for  all,  Duke,  let  us  end  this.  You  will  never 
be  my  husband;  my  very  soul  revolts  against  the 
tliought.  I  will  defy  my  father— aye,  all  the  world,  to 
force  such  a  bond  upon  me.  You  cannot  wed  me 
without  my  consent,  and  that  1  will  never  give." 

"  Pardon  me  for  contradicting  you,  Contessa,  and 
allow  me  to  say  that  yon  will  consent ;  that  before 
another  day  is  gone  you  will  give  me  your  hand  of 
your  own  free  will.  The  Duke  of  Castellara  is  not 
"used  to  being  thwarted  in  his  dearest  wishes.  Now, 
farewell,  until  you  summon  me  to  your  side  as  your 
accepted  suitor." 

Elena  stood  upright  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  cold, 
rigid,  and  silent,  until  the  door  closed  upon  the  demon 
who  had  so  tortured  her ;  then,  with  a  wild  cry,  she 
sank  down  in  a  heap  on  the  rich  carpet,  and  lay  pant- 
ing and  weeping  in  an  agony  of  grief. 


-ij^ai>^&&Bl^SaR54**'STS.B;Wv 


;VTK"ilit  SieSs».'Jr«s*=;^'=v 


i^-i^aIjF*^^»*i^^^.'.'■l'■"•i-^ 


«ci*i!    l^3iTii«^-;.'Sir»«Iy-^SarT^JH?'l~" 


E3-, 


iJ  I 


•I 


64  THE  DUKE  OF  GASTELLARA. 

Scarce  had  the  footsteps  of  the  Duke  of  Oastellara 
died  away  in  the  distance,  before  an  inner  door  that 
led  to  the  salon  opened,  and  an  old  man,  with  slightly 
bowed  figure,  thin,  gray  hair,  and  pale,  worn,  resolute 
face,  softly  entered. 

lie  paused  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  with  the 
door  still  open  behind  him,  seeming  irresolute  whether 
to  advance  or  retire ;  then,  with  a  glance  of  infinite 
pity,  that  changed  instantly  into  a  hard,  stubborn  look, 
he  came  towards  the  weeping  girl,  and  leaning  over  her, 
lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  while  ho  said  somewhai; 
sternly : 

"What  is  the   meaning  of    this    unseemly  grief, 

Elena?" 

The  sound  of  her  father's  voice  appeared  to  soothe 
the  Contessa  instantly,  for,  leaning  her  head  against  the 
Count's  shoulder,  and  pressing  his  hand  to  her  heart, 
she  said  between  her  sobs:  "It  must  have  been  a 
frightful  dream,  and  now,  my  father,  you  are  here, 
and  it  is  gone." 

"What  has  happened,  what  was  a  dream?"  asked 
her  father,  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  This  dreadful  interview  with  the  Duke  of  Oastel- 
lara.   It  surely  could  not  have  been  real  ?  " 

"Are  you  insane,  child?  What  could  there  be 
dreadful  in  a  visit  from  the  Duke  ?  Why,  every  lady 
in  Florence  welcomes  him  with  outstretched  hands  ? " 


,2sa^«««^«»s»s» 


ULLARA. 


THE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLARA. 


65 


Dake  of  Oastellara 
an  inner  door  that 
i  man,  with  slightly 
pale,  worn,  resolute 

I  thi-eshold,  with  the 
<r  irresolute  whether 
a,  glance  of  infinite 
hard,  stubborn  look, 
,nd  leaning  over  her, 
lie  ho  said  somewhat 

lis    xinseemly  grief, 

!  appeared  to  soothe 
her  head  against  the 
13  hand  to  her  heart, 
must  have  been  a 
ither,  you  are  here, 

as  a  dream?"  asked 

the  Duke  of  Castel- 
Bn  real  \  " 

hat  could  there  be 
3  ?  Why,  every  lady 
)ut6tretched  hands  ? " 


"Ah!  now  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  real,  since 
you  know  of  it  and  have  allowed  A"  cried  Elena, 
weeping  again.  "  Oh  !  my  father,  how  could  you  pur- 
mit  him  to  torment  mc  bo  ?  A  year  ago  I  begged  you 
to  spare  me  such  torture  again." 

"  What  strong  words  you  use,  child  ?  Why  should 
it  torture  you  to  listen  to  the  Duke?  Other  women 
would  be  flattered  by  his  preference." 

"  Other  women  do  not  hate  and  loathe  him  as  I 
do." 

"  I  pray  you  to  moderate  your  expressions ;  they  are 
too  severe." 

"But,  my  father,  they  are  not  stronger  than  my 
aversion." 

"Wliy  should  you  hate  the  Duke  of  Castellaral 
He  loves  you,  and  has  but  told  you  so ;  surely  that  is  a 
strange  reason  for  hating  him." 

"  He  persecutes  me,  he  insults  me  when  he  talks  of 
his  love." 

"  This  is  childish  folly,  Elena,  and  you  know  not 
what  you  are  saying." 

"Alas!  I  know  too  well;  my  poor  heart  speaks 
through  my  lips." 

"  It  is  an  honor  that  you  are  insane  to  refuse.  What 
prouder  destiny  could  you  ask  than  to  be  the  Duchess 
of  Oastellara — the  wife  of  Ferdinand's  favorite  ? " 

"  Father,  father,  I  implore  yon — you  who  know  the 


..i3»^riiib.^>i*fv^ 


JaiB>.S&UJ  _*.'-r  slVi^iVa'  «--■•"  ■*.*i.-""*:i*!reSliati»jrf-(4«i->-i  -ilk 


;|Sai* 


..1 ,1 


66 


THE  DUKE  OF  GASTELLABA. 


|i: 


Becret  of  my  unhappy  love,  not  to  speak  of  my  wed- 
ding another." 

,"  Miserable  child,  will  yon  allow  that  romantic  folly 
to  rnin  all  your  prospects  in  life?  " 

« IIow  can  you  call  it  a  folly  ?  It  was  part  of  my 
being,  and  it  lives  now  within  my  heart." 

"  Then  I  advise  you  to  kill  it  as  soon  as  possible,  for 
it  can  do  you  no  good  to  nourish  it  and  keep  it  alive 
with  your  teai-s." 

"Listen  to  me,  father.  When  you  refused  ray 
prayer  to  allow  me  to  wed  the  man  I  loved,  I  m\> 
mitted  to  your  will ;  I  obeyed  you  outwardly,  but  my 
love  still  remained.  His  death  removed  him  from  the 
path  of  your  ambition,  and  now  you  think  you  can 
.  tear  his  image  from  my  heart  and  replace  it  by  an- 
,  other;  but  you  are  mistaken.  I  shall  never  love  again, 
and  I  shall  never  become  the  wife  of  any  man." 

Count  Altimonti  turned  fearfully  pale  as  his  daugh- 
ter's words  fell  on  his  ears,  and  the  nervous  clasp  of 
his  hands  told  how  deep  was  his  emotion;  but  he 
replied  as  calmly  as  though  she  had  made  a  remark  of 
little  importance.  V 

«  Elena,  my  poor  child,  our  wills  seem  to  come  into 
constant  conflict.  Whatever  I  wish,  whatever  I  know 
to  be  for  your  best  good,  is  sure  to  meet  with  opposi- 
tion from  you.  Now,  be  calm  and  listen  to  reason. 
Granted  that  you  loved  Lord  Challonner,  and  that  I 

*   '  ^      V 


'ELLAKA. 

,0  speak  of  my  wed- 

kv  that  romantic  folly 

\    It  was  part  of  my 
heart." 

s  soon  aa  possible,  for 
L  it  and  keep  it  alive 

len  you    refused   my 
man  I  loved,  I  eul> 
lu  outwardly,  but  my 
•emoved  him  from  the 
IV  you  think  you  can 
and  replace  it  by  an- 
sliall  never  love  again, 
Pe  of  any  man," 
illy  pale  as  his  daugh- 
l  the  nervous  clasp  of 
his  emotion;   but  he 
had  made  a  remark  of 

ills  seem  to  come  into 
wish,  whatever  I  know 
e  to  meet  with  opposi- 
1  and  listen  to  reason. 
Dhallonner,  and  that  I 


THE  DUKE  OF  GA8TELLARA. 


C7 


refused  my  sanction  to  your  union  with  him — that  you 
obeyed  me,  and  that  afterwards  he  died — is  there  any 
leason  in  all  that  why  you  should  not  marry  now? 
AVliy,  even  the  most  devoted  wife  will  lay  aside  her 
weeds  for  a  new  love.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  maid- 
enly grief  is  unbecoming." 

"  Nay,  father,  do  not  taunt  me.  God  knows  that, 
next  to  my  duty  to  you,  it  is  the  holiest  feeling  of  my 
heart.  I  will  obey  you  in  aught  else,  but  do  not  ask 
nie  to  give  my  hand  in  marriage,  especially  to  the  Duke 
of  Castellara,  whom  I  hate  with  my  whole  soul." 

"  Elena,  the  time  has  come  at  last — the  hour  that  I 
have  dreaded  for  years,  when  I  must  tell  you  the 
truth.  I  hoped  your  acquiescence  to  my  wishes  would 
have  spared  me  the  humiliation  of  this  moment.  You 
have  believed  your  father  to  be  rich ;  you  have  thought 
this  palace,  these  pictures,  this  costly  furniture,  the 
plate  and  jewels,  belonged  to  me,  but  they  do  not ;  all 
that  I  call  mine  in  the  world  belongs  to  the  Duke  of 
Castellara."  > 

"  My  God,  is  this  true  ? "  cried  Elena. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  fearfully  true  ;  and  now,  when  you 
refuse  to  listen  to  his  proposal,  I  see  what  a  fearful  gulf 
yawns  before  me." 

"  What  can  I  do — how  can  I  help  you  ?  Alas !  I 
know  not." 

"  By  becoming  the  wife  of  the  Duke.    The  day  you 


S^fW» A7SMU«iik>r^  ■S^iFiWCaWW'*^  ■  '9''<U>a\^U>M>«lW^  ■.^!?i4^M 


■1 


.i'^' 


91  ■     THE  DUKE  OF  CASTELLABA. 

conecnt  to  be  his,  ho  will  destroy  every  proof  of  my  in- 
debtedness to  him  ;  ho  will  restore  my  property  to  mc, 
and  I  shall  be  a  free  and  happy  man  again." 

"  And  I  the  most  wretched  of  slaves.  O  father  1  the 
sacrifice  is  too  much."  ' 

"  Listen  to  the  other  side  of  my  humiliating  story. 
If  you  refuse,  Count  Altimonti  and  his  lovely  and  ac- 
complished dangTiter  will  be  turned  out  upon  the 
world  helpless  beggars." 

"  Ah !  my  father,  I  would  a  thousand  times  prefer 
poverty— even  beggary— to  becoming  his  wife." 

«  But  your  father's  honor— have  you  no  thought  of 
that  ?    The  proud  name  of  Altimonti  will  be  dragged 
through  the  mire,  the  palace  of  his  ancestors  will  pass 
into  the  hands  of  strangers,  and  he  will  have  no  other 
.  refuge  than  the  grave."  v       r       < 

«  Can  the  Duke  of  Castellara  buy  me  at  such  a 
price  1  Can  he  make  the  father's  misfortune  a  means 
of  winning  the  wretched  reluctant  daughter  ?  Oh,  ho 
is  a  greater  monster  than  I  thought  him  I  " 

«  Hush,  my  child ;  he  loves  you,  and  he  will  not  bo 
thwarted.  Had  you  listened  kindly  to  his  proposals, 
and  accepted  him  voluntarily,  he  would  not  have  re- 
sorted to  such  means :  as  it  is,  he  is  resolved  to  gain 
your  consent  or  complete  my  ruin." 

"  O  father !  is  there  no  way  of  escape  ?  Cannot  you 
free  yourself  from  his  power  without  sacrificing  mo  ? 


TELLABA. 


THE  DUKE  OF  CASTE LLARA. 


69 


every  proof  of  my  i Ti- 
ro my  property  to  iiic, 


man  again. 


slaves.    O  father  1  the 

my  humiliating  story. 
vnd  his  lovely  and  ac- 
turned  out  upon  the 

thousand  times  prefer 
ming  his  wife." 
ave  you  no  thought  of 
raonti  will  be  dragged 
his  ancestors  will  pass 
.  he  will  have  no  other 

ra  buy  me  at  such  a 
r's  misfortune  a  means 
ant  daughter  1  Oh,  ho 
ight  him  1 " 

you,  and  he  will  not  bo 
iindly  to  his  proposals, 
he  would  not  have  re- 
,  he  is  resolved  to  gain 
urn." 

3f  escape  ?  Cannot  you 
without  sacrificing  me  ? 


I  will  bear  any  lot  patiently,  however  humble,  if  you 
will  but  spare  me  this  dreadful  fate." 

"  There  is  no  way,  my  child.  Wo  are  helpless  in  his 
hands,  and  you  exaggerate  your  position.  The  Duko 
oftors  you  the  greatest  honor  that  can  bo  conferred 
upon  you.  Your  life  will  be  one  triumph,  and  you 
will  be  happy  in  having  done  your  duty,  in  having 
saved  your  father  from  a  dishonored  grave." 

"  Say  no  more,  I  implore  you.  Do  with  me  as  yon 
will— I  am  ready  for  the  sacritico ;  but,  my  father, 
never  reproach  me  if  you  see  forever  before  you,  in- 
stead of  the  Elena  you  liave  loved,  but  a  wretched 
mockery  of  her  image,  a  body  without  a  lieart,  a  crea- 
ture destitute  of  one  noble  impulse  ;  for,  to  become  the 
wife  of  the  Duke  of  Castellara,  I  must  kill  all  that  is 
good  in  my  nature ;  every  tender  emotion,  every  holy 
thought,  mast  be  torn  from  my  wretched,  suffering 
soul,  and  instead  of  a  gentle,  loving  woman,  I  shall  be 
changed  into  a  cruel,  reckless  creature,  unloved  by  all 
and  despised  most  by  myself." 

"  My  poor  cliild,  your  recent  sorrow  has  unnerved 
you,  and  you  take  a  morbid  view  of  everything. 
When  you  are  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  you  will 
think  difEerently,  and  will  be  ready  to  bless  me  for 
showing  you  your  duty  and  saving  you  from  your- 
self." 

"  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so.    I  am  doing  my  duty, 


li^ilar^^t  «««»»  >ut«MIK2>>«MKMUl^:? 


nr 


p: 


TO 


FIORDILISA. 


yon  say,  and  that  bIiouUI  bo  onou<,'h  to  insure  tny  hap- 
plncss.  Write  to  the  Duke  of  Castoll.ira,  and  say  tlmt 
he  was  not  wrong  when  ho  told  mo  1  would  recall  him 
to  my  side  a3  iny  accepted  suitor.  Tell  him  to  come. 
I  consent,  I  consent!"  and,  with  a  sob  of  anguish,  tho 
unhappy  girl  fell  back  iu  her  father's  arms  uucou- 
Bcious.  ' 


CHAPTER  V. 


f^-' 


FIORDILISA. 

|tlEN  lingo  fled  in  the  gathering  twilight,  with 
the  infant  he  had  taken  from  the  dead 
woman  whom  he  found  near  the  Church  of 
San  Salvador,  his  only  thought  was  to  reach  the  shelter 
of  his  hovel  on  San  Miniato  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Witliout  looking  behind  him,  he  hurried  up  the  steep 
hill,  breathless,  trembling,  guilty,  for,  now  that  he  had 
really  done  the  deed,  he  wished  it  undone  and  the 
child  safely  back  on  its  mother's  bosom.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  footsteps  were  pattering  after  him  ;  that  the 
very  air  was  full  of  horror,  beating  on  his  ears  with  a 
strange,  low  plaint,  as  though  a  mother  mounied  for 
her  firet-born  and  would  not  be  comforted. 
,  But  the  child  slept  peacefully  on  his  breast,  its 


FIORDILISA. 


71 


ij^h  to  insure  my  hap- 
astoll.ira,  and  say  that 
mo  1  would  recall  him 
r.  Tell  him  to  come. 
I  a  Bob  of  anguish,  tlio 
father's  arms  uucou- 


athcring  twilight,  with 
akeii  from  the  dead 
id  near  the  Church  of 
.vaa  to  reach  the  shelter 
13  quickly  as  possible, 
e  hurried  up  the  steep 
yr,  for,  now  that  he  had 
ed  it  undone  and  the 
s  bosom.  It  seemed  to 
ig  after  him  ;  that  the 
,ting  on  his  ears  with  a 
a  mother  mounied  for 
!  comforted, 
'ully  on  his  breast,  its 


warm  little  face  pressed  to  his  poor  heart,  that  had 
never  throbbed  befuro  with  such  tender  emotion. 
Already  he  seemed  to  love  it ;  his  desolate  life  needed 
Boniething  to  render  its  burden  endurable.  Then, 
what  sin  was  there  in  his  caring  for  this  motiierlesa 
infant?  ♦ 

Suddenly  a  figure  appeared  to  stand  before  him, 
clad  in  soft,  light  drapery,  with  golden  hair  fulling 
away  from  its  face,  and  eyes  filled  M-ith  divine  love 
and  compassion.  Was  it  the  Holy  Virgin,  who  was 
thus  barring  his  way,  or  was  it  a  vision  of  the  Angel  of 
the  Church  !  The  sweet  face,  as  ho  looked,  seemed  to 
change  from  pity  to  rebuke,  and  one  hand  pointed  to 
the  city  he  had  left  behind  him— to  the  dead  woman 
lying  under  the  cypress  near  San  Salvador. 

Hugo  was  a  creature  of  impulse,  and,  as  most  of  his 
countrymen,  superstitious  to  folly.  Although  he  was 
Bure  that  this  vision  before  him  was  only  visible  to  his 
mental  eyes,  yet  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had 
really  seen  the  Angel  of  the  Church,  and  she  had 
spoken  to  him  reproachfully  and  warningly. 

Stopping,  like  a  wild  animal  suddenly  brought  to 
bay  in  its  flight  from  its  pursuei-s,  he  would  have 
turned  and  retraced  his  steps,  but  already  he  heard  a 
murmur  of  voices  behind  him.  Some  monks  were 
creeping  slowly  up  the  hill,  in  the  shadows  of  the 
cypress  trees,  and  they  evidently  had  passed  the  dead 


,_t^iii^L^^- 


72 


PIOIWILISA. 


woman  without  Rocing  licr.  Ho  tlarcd  not  meet  tlipflo 
holy  men  with  tlio  evidence  of  liis  tlictt  in  his  iirnm. 
So,  hiBtead  of  tiwning  back,  ho  hurried  on  faster  thiiu 
before,  and  did  not  pause  again  until  he  reached  the 
door  of  his  hovel.  *  ' 

Outwardly,  the  place  where  the  poor  Ininchback 
fonnd  Bhelter,  and  which  ho  called  home,  was  little 
bettor  than  a  pile  of  stones  thrown  rudely  together  aiiJ 
covered  with  a  sort  of  coai-se  cement  which  filled  np 
the  croviccfi,  keeping  out  the  wind  and  rain  in  winter, 
and  the  heat  and  dust  in  sunnncr. 

There  was  a  scpiaro  hole  for  a  window,  with  a  board 
that  slid  back  and  forth  as  it  was  needed,  either  to 
open  or  shut  the  aperture,  and  a  door  so  low  that  an 
upright  man  could  not  have  entered  without  stooping ; 
but  it  was  high  enough  for  the  bent  figure  of  Hugo. 
Everything  about  the  exterior  of  the  humble  place  was 
neat  and  orderly;  a   few  morning-glories  crept  ovor 
the  rongh  walls  and  shaded  the  casement,  and  several 
rose-bushes  and  myrtles  grew  in  boxes  standing  near 
the  entrance ;  a  clump  of  cypress  trees  and  a  stunted 
olive  made  a  background  for  tho  rude  hovel,  shading 
it  from  the  too  ardent  rays  of  the  sun,  and  giving  it  a 
picturesque,  if  not  a  cheerful,  appearance. 

Although  the  outside  of  the  hunchback's  home  was 
BO  poor  and  unattractive,  the  interior  presented  a  pleas- 
ant picture,  for  everywhere  the  artist's  taste  was  visi- 


FmiiDiLrsA. 


73 


larcd  not  meet  tlioflo 
iB  tlittt  in  liirt  iirniH. 
urried  on  faster  tliiui 
uutil  he  roachod  tho 

the  poor  hunchhack 
led  homo,  was  little 
11  rudely  togetlier  an  '. 
iment  which  filled  up 
id  and  raiu  in  winter, 

window,  with  a  board 
vas  needed,  either  to 
a  door  so  low  that  an 
red  without  stooping ; 
bent  figure  of  Hugo, 
the  humble  place  was 
ing-glories  crept  over 
casement,  and  several 
a  boxes  standing  near 
88  trees  and  a  stunted 
0  rude  hovel,  shading 
he  sun,  and  giving  it  a 
ipearance. 

mnchback's  home  was 
erior  presented  a  pleas- 
artist's  taste 'was  visi- 


ble. Scraps  of  different  colored  drapery  which  had 
been  given  him,  or  that  he  iuid  picked  up  from  the 
hiicd-hra.^  shops  on  the  Vontc  Vt'i'chio^  were  arranged 
(ivcr  tho  riulo  walls  with  remurkublo  taste,  i)oth  in  re- 
111(1  to  harmony  of  color  and  design,  A  simple  bed 
in  one  corner  was  covered  with  a  drapery,  which  ho  had 
nmnnfactured  himself  from  bright  bits  of  caml)ric  and 
other  stuffd  that  the  more  fortunate  had  thrown  away 
as  useless,  while  everywhere  his  skill  in  carving  was 
visible.  Tho  franitss  that  surrounded  a  few  course 
prints  were  works  of  art;  tho  simiU  table,  chair,  and 
stool  had  boon  fashioned  by  his  own  hands,  as  well  as 
a  book-case  that  hung  against  the  wall,  filled  with 
Some  worn  books  that  ho  had  bought  for  a  triflo  from 
the  stalls  in  the  streets.  They  were  mostly  works  on 
art,  or  the  lives  and  writings  of  the  different  Italian 
authors,  plainly  showing  that  the  poor  hunchback  loved 
literature  as  well  as  all  other  beautiful  and  ennobling 
things. 

In  one  corner,  and  screened  oft'  from  the  remainder 
of  the  room,  was  a  chimney,  a  few  shelves  and  cooking 
utensils,  all  as  clean  and  bright  as  the  most  fastidious 
liousekeeper  could  desire,  and  at  the  foot  of  his  bed 
was  a  little  altar  carved  with  a  loving,  reverential  hand, 
supporting  a  crucifix  and  a  dying  Christ,  copied  from 
LuGa  della  Robbia,  with  two  kneeling  angels  on  each 
side. 


ti 


FIORD!  USA. 


*m 


Xt'iu-ly  ten  years  of  Iln^'o'a  life  Imd  been  pftsned  in 
\\m  little  r(«)in,  anJ  lie  liml  HpiMit  all  IiIh  leiHure  time 
in  improving,'  imtl  (lenniitiii^'  it,  until  iit  tiiniM  it  kiumiicmI 
to  him  iw  lu'iiiilifiil  us  the  most  clc^'iint  piilmte  in  I-'lnr- 
iMici",  and  II  lit  pliico  for  a  king  to  dwell  in.     It  hud 
tMmt  him  very  little  to  live  there ;  ho  paid  the  nK.nkrt 
of  San  Aliniato  a  trifle  for  the  privilege  of  inhabiting 
the  little  hovel  that  waH,  after  all,  only  an  abandoned 
goivt-hoUBe,  and  no  living  thing,  save  iS'ann  his  gout, 
ever  camo  near  him.    The  gentle  animal  was  his  boIc 
companion  as  well  as  hiis  princi])al   Bonreo  of  Hiisle- 
nanee,  for  her  milk  and  a  few  vegetables  that  ho  raised 
off  a  little  i)lot  behind  the  hovel,  served  him  f<jr  food 
when  he  had  no  money  to  purchase  better. 

On  this  jiight,  when  Hugo  entered  his  low  door  and 
gained  the  shelter  of  his  humble  rwf,  he  felt  as 
though  ho  had  been  away  for  months,  so  much  had 
happened  to  him,  and  ho  had  experienced  so  many 
now  emotions.  Ilis  first  act  was  to  place  the  child 
upon  his  bed,  and  then  groping  around  ho  found  and 
lighted  a  small  lamp  which  he  held  over  the  infant, 
exannning  it  closely.  It  moved  and  nestled  as  though 
it  was  about  to  awake,  and  then  cried  a  little  in  its 

sleep. 

The  hunchback  looked  around  half  frightened. 
What  should  be  do  if  it  should  weep  and  wail  for  its 
mother? 


M^^»«^iteAS^t>i&!ft^WMfe»Wi"fA'Si»- 


FI0RD1LI8A. 


75 


ifc  Imd  bfcn  pasBcd  in 
!iit  all  liiH  luiHiire  tiiiio 
iiitil  lit  tiiiiiM  it,  HiU'iiiiil 
.'Icj^aiit  piiliice  ill  FliT- 
f  to  chvell  ill.     it  hiul 
•e  ;  lio  paid  the  moiika 
[)rivilego  of  inliabiting 
nil,  only  III!  ulmiuUnietl 
,  save  Kanft  his  goat, 
tie  animal  was  his  boIc 
!i])al    Boiirco   of   hiihIc- 
•<retal)lo8  that  he  raised 
el,  served  him  for  food 
laso  better. 

tered  his  low  door  and 
nihlo  roof,  lie  felt  as 
months,  bo  much  had 
experienced  so  many 
was  to  plaee  the  child 
g  aronnd  ho  found  and 
5  held  over  the  infant, 
1  and  nestled  as  though 
len  cried  a  little  in  its 

onnd    half   frightened, 
i  weep  and  wail  for  its 


"  Perhaps  it  is  hungry,"  lie  said.  "1  must  find  Nana 
ftiid  got  it  some  ni(to  frewh  milk."  (Joiiig  to  the  door, 
lie  iiiado  a  peculiar  imiHo  l)y  phwtiiig  hin  luindrt  oven-  his 
mouth,  ami  in  a  moiiHiiit  Nana  answered  hiw  call,  and 
caiiio  trotting  to  him,  rubbing  her  docile  houd  against 
his  knee. 

When  ho  had  milked  the  goat  and  returned  again  to 
the  room,  ho  found  the  babe  fairly  awake  and  crying 
liiKtily  for  food. 

Taking  it  up  awkwardly,  but  tenderly,  ho  soothed  it 
and  fed  it  with  the  warm  milk,  which  it  took  readily, 
much  to  his  surprise,  for  he  thought  the  tender  nurs- 
ling would  refuse  to  be  fed  in  any  other  than  the  natu- 
ral way. 

"Ahl  what  an  exquisite  little  creature  it  is,"  said 
lingo,  watching  it  with  fervent  admiration.  "  Its  eyes 
are  as  blue  as  heaven,  and  its  tiny  rings  of  hair  are  like 
threads  of  yellow  silk." 

After  it  had  eaten  until  it  was  satisfied,  with  a 
woman's  tenderness  and  thoughtful ness  he  unfastened 
the  swathing  bands  that  surrounded  it,  and  allowed  its 
little  limbs  the  freedom  that  was  natural  to  them.  It 
seemed  to  enjoy  its  unaccustomed  liberty  hugely, 
Btretching  out  its  chubby  arms  and  cooing  and  laugh- 
ing in  the  pale,  sad  face  that  was  bent  over  it.        i. 

The  hunchback  had  always  a<lored  the  little  cherubs 
and  figures  of  children  in  pictures  and  statuary,  look- 


xift^'iaMftJSt' 


m 


76 


FI0BDILI8A. 


If' 


ing  upon  them  as  something  holy  and  pnre,  and  far 
beyond  his  earthly  affections  ;  and  lio  had  always  mod- 
elled and  cawed  them  with  singidar  reverence  and  love ; 
and  now,  when  he  held  in  his  arms  this  warm,  living, 
exquisite  creature,  this  perfect  model  of  all  that  was 
an^^elic,  and  his  artistic  nature  revelled  in  its  dainty 
outlines,  its  soft  curves,  its  dimpled  roundness,  it 
seemed  as  though  Heaven  itself  had  opened  before 
him,  and  he  was  filled  with  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

It  was  a  strange  picture  that  the  flickering  liglit  of 
the  little  lamp  fell  upon.  The  deformed,  grotesque 
figure  of  Hugo  bending  over  the  divine  loveliness,  in- 
nocence, and  purity  of  the  infant  on  his  knees,  witli 
such  a  worshipping  gaze  as  is  only  seen  in  the  face  of 
the  Blessed  Mother,  or  the  adoring  saints,  looking  witli 
reverential  awe  at  the  holy  child  slumbering  in  the 
manger  of  Bethlehem. 

For  a  long  while  he  looked  and  worshipped,  until 
the  drowsy  lids  closed  over  its  blue  eyes,  and  sleep 
folded  it  again  in  its  peaceful  embrace;  then  he 
wrapped  its  robes  softly  around  it,  and  laid  it  on  his 
pillow  to  sleep  by  his  side. 

As  he  was  turning  away  from  the  bed,  something 
glittering  on  the  floor  at  his  feet  attracted  his  atten- 
tion ;  he  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  and  on  examining 
it,  he  found  it  to  be  a  small  gold  clasp  that  had  evi- 
dently  fallen  from   the  child's  clothes.     It  was  of 


■'*wiSagSBi.«Mi^»»i 


SA. 


FIORDILISA. 


77 


holy  and  pnre,  and  far 
and  lio  had  always  mod- 
ular reverence  and  love ; 
arms  this  warm,  living, 
t  model  of  all  that  was 
e  revelled  in  its  dainty 
dimpled  ronndness,  it 
self  had  opened  before 
ecstasy  of  delight. 
\t  the  flickering  liglit  of 
he  deformed,  grotesqro 
the  divine  loveliness,  iu- 
ifant  on  his  knees,  with 
onlv  seen  in  the  face  of 
•ring  saints,  looking  with 
uhild  slumbering  in  the 

3  and  worshipped,  until 
ts  blue  eyes,  and  sleep 
ef  ul  embrace ;  then  he 
nd  it,  and  laid  it  on  his 

from  the  bed,  something 
feet  attracted  his  atten- 
it  up,  and  on  examining 
?old  clasp  that  had  evi- 
d's  clothes.     It  was  of 


antique  and  costly  workmanship,  and  on  the  inside 
was  engraven  daintily  a  coronet  and  crest. 

'*  What  can  tliis  mean  ? "  he  said,  witii  sudden  pallor. 
"  Ilow  could  a  child  of  the  people  become  possessed 
of  this  costly  trinket?  The  woman  was  of  hurablo 
position,  her  dress  denoted  it ;  and  her  hands  were 
coai-se  and  rough  with  toil,  while  the  child,  though  as 
lovely  as  an  angel,  does  not  seem  to  belong  to  wealthy 
jiiirents ;  its  garments  are  such  as  are  worn  by  the  chil- 
dren of  the  poorer  classes — clean  and  comfortable,  but 
neither  rich  nor  costly.  It  is  a  mystery  that  I  cannot 
understand.  However,  it  is  not  worth  worrying  a!)out ; 
the  little  angel  belongs  to  me  now,  and  it  can  make  no 
difference  about  its  past ;  I  must  think  only  of  its 
future.  Can  it  be  p  .^sible  that  I  can  have  an  interest 
in  the  future  of  any  human  being  ? " 

Holding  the  clasp  still  in  his  hand,  he  turned  again  to 
the  bed  and  gazed  long  and  thoughtfully  on  the  child. 

"  It  must  be  some  weeks  old — I  wonder  how  many  ? 
I  wonder  if  its  father  lives,  or  if  he  has  abandoned  its 
motlier,  as  my  unhappy  mother  was  abandoned?  I 
wish  I  could  know  whether  it  had  been  baptized  and 
named,  but  I  cannot.  I  can  know  nothing  of  its  his- 
tory. I  have  taken  it  instantly  from  one  life  to 
another,  and  it  must  begin  again,  sweet,  unconscious 
innocent.  To-day  will  be  its  birthd,.y,  July  6th,  1823, 
and  I  must  give  it  a  name." 


rW\ ' 


78 


FIORDILISA. 


f7  I 


For  a  long  time  Iliigo  seomod  to  be  revolving  sorae- 
tlung  in  his  mind,  something  important,  for  his  brows 
wore  knit,  and  his  face  had  an  anxious  expression ;  it 
was  important— this  giving  the  child  a  name  witlioiit 
priest  or  holy  water— but  it  must  bo  done,  "  and  I  am 
the  only  one  to  do  it,"  he  said  gravely.  "  At  first  it 
seemed  easy,  very  easy,  but  now,  1  think  of  it  more,  it  is 
difficult  to  decide  what  to  call  it." 

"  Ah  I  I  have  it  now,"  he  said  joyfully,  after  a  mo- 
ment more  of  silent  cogitation,  "  and  it  will  be  so  suit- 
able, *  Fiordilisa,'  how  sweet  and  pretty,  a  lily,  yes, 
she  is  a  lily  of  purity  and  delicate  whiteness,  and  I 
will  call  her  Lisa— it  will  be  shorter  and  more  childlike. 
I  wonder  if  she  would  awake  if  I  should  kiss  her.  My 
lips  have  never  touched  a  human  being's  since  they 
were  pressed  upon  my  dead  mother's  face.  They  are 
pure,  and  my  kiss  would  be  a  benediction  on  her 
name,  because  I  have  sworn  that  they  should  touch  no 
other  face  until  I  saw  my  mother  again  in  paradise, 
and  it  seems  as  though  I  wab  with  her  to  night,  and  as 
near  heaven  as  I  ever  shall  be.  Oh !  this  wondrous 
human  love,  even  for  a  child !  How  it  ennobles  and 
purifies  the  soul.  I  sJiall  be  better  now.  My  lily,  my 
sweet  lily,  I  will  toil  for  you,  I  will  live  for  yon,  and 
be  so  tender  and  gentle  to  you  that  you  will  love  me, 
even  though  I  am  a  deformed  and  wretched  being 
whom  every  one  despises." 


o  be  revolving  some- 
artant,  for  his  brows 
nxious  expression ;  it 
bild  a  name  without 

be  done,  "  and  I  am 
;ravely.     "  At  first  it 

think  of  it  more,  it  is 

joyfnlly,  after  a  mo- 

and  it  will  be  so  suit- 

d  pretty,  a  lily,  yes, 

cjate  whiteness,  and  I 

;r  and  more  childlike. 

'.  should  kiss  her.    My 

an  being's  since  they 

her's  face.    They  are 

,  benediction   on  her 

they  shonld  touch  no 

gr  again  in  paradise, 

h  her  to  night,  and  as 

,     Oh !  this  wondrous 

How  it  ennobles  and 

;ter  now.    My  lily,  my 

will  live  for  you,  and 

that  yon  will  love  me, 

and, wretched  being 


FIOBDILISA. 


7ft 


Then  with  the  hot  tears  falling  over  the  pillow,  he 
stooped  and  pressed  his  lips  reverently  to  the  white 
forehead  of  the  babe,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
over  her,  saying  in  a  deep  solemn  voice  :  "  May  God 
and  all  the  blessed  saints  protect  thee  from  sin  and 
sorrow  in  this  hard  world,  and  make  thee  good  and 
happy  through  my  humble  instrumentality." 

The  child  was  sleeping  soundly,  unconscious  of  his 
prayers  and  tears ;  and  fearing  to  awake  it  if  he  lay 
down  by  its  side,  he  drew  a  chair  near  the  bed,  and 
leaning  his  weary  head  on  the  pillow  close  by  his  new- 
found treasure,  he  slept  soundly  until  the  sunlight 
shining  into  the  window  of  his  little  room  awoke  him. 

With  the  new  day  began  a  new  life  for  him.  The 
babe  had  to  be  fed,  bathed,  and  swathed  again  in  its 
clinging  garments,  which  Hugo  did  as  carefully  and 
tenderly  as  a  woman ;  for  his  artistic  nature,  and  the 
constant  and  delicate  handling  of  his  carving-tools, 
made  him  expert  in  those  things  that  men  generally 
do  awkwardly  and  roughly. 

While  he  busied  himself  about  his  duties,  he  was  re- 
volving in  his  mind  some  plan  by  which  he  could  com- 
municate with  the  city,  for  he  saw  at  once  that  the  in- 
fant wouL  .  need  clothes  and  food,  and  many  little  deli- 
cacies wh  ch  his  humble  way  of  living  had  never  de- 
manded ;  and  he  had  the  means  of  procuring  them— 
thanks  to  the  bounty  of  the  Angel  of  the  Church— but 


3il!*'f  I!'' 


80 


FI0RDILI8A. 


who  should  he  employ  as  a  messenger,  and  who  could 
he  trust  to  lay  out  his  money  economically  and  judi- 
ciously ?  lie  thought  of  Father  llario,  his  only  friend ; 
but  he  was  about  leaving  for  Rome,  and  beside,  ho 
was  not  the  one  to  pui-chase  the  numberless  little  arti- 
cles he  needed,  neither  did  he  desire  to  impart  liis 
secret  to  any  one;  he  did  not  wish  any  human  being 
to  know  that  the  child  was  beneath  iiis  roof. 

"  No,  no  !  I  must  not  tell  any  one,"  he  said  ;  "  for  I 
might  not  be  allowed  to  keep  it,  and  it  would  kill  mo 
to  lose  it  now."  ■  '^ 

He  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  The  sun  waa 
just  rising  beyond  the  purple  hills  ;  the  birds  fluttered 
and  chirped  in  the  cypress ;  Nana  browsed  near  the 
border  of  his  small  garden;  a  little  rivulet  running 
among  the  vines  over  some  mossy  rocks  murmured 
pleasantly  on  his  ear  ;  the  walls  of  the  convent  and  the 
windows  of  the  church  were  all  ablaze  with  the  sun- 
light; nature  was  awake,  singing  her  morning  song 
joyously,  and  lingo's  happy  heart  joined  in  the 
chorus. 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  the  dead  woman  lying  un- 
der the  cypress,  and  he  turned  pale  and  shivered. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  is  there  still,"  he  said ;  and  an 
irresistible  desire  to  know  took  possession  of  him.  "  I 
must  see ;  and  if  the  child  is  sleeping,  I  will  go  j  I 
need  not  be  absent  but  a  few  moments." 


longer,  ana  who  conUl 
lonoinically  and  jiuli- 
tlario,  his  only  frieml ; 
Some,  and  beside,  ho 
numberless  little  arti- 
desire  to  impart  liis 
ish  any  Imman  being 
th  iiis  roof. 

one,"  he  said  ;  "  for  I 
,  and  it  would  kill  mo 

:ed  out.  The  snn  was 
3  ;  the  birds  fluttered 
ma  browsed  near  tho 
little  rivulet  running 
)ssy  rocks  murmured 
»f  tlie  convent  and  tlie 
[  ablaze  with  tho  sun- 
ig  her  morning  song 
heart    joined    in    the 

ead  woman  lying  un- 
ale  and  shivered, 
ill,"  he  said;  and  an 
lossession  of  him.  "  I 
sleeping,  I  will  go  j  I 
:)UiOnt8." 


FIORDILISA. 


II 


The  baby,  refreshed  by  its  bath  and  warm  milk,  had 
dozed  off  again ;  and  Hugo,  carefully  locking  the 
loor,  started  down  tlie  hill  in  trembling  haste.  Ilia 
cry  soul  shrank  from  looking  upon  that  terrible  sight, 
even  though  tho  sun  shone  brightly  and  the  whole 
world  was  awake. 

"  Some  one  must  have  discovered  her  before  this," 
he  said,  to  reassure  himself.  "  A  great  many  peasants 
must  have  already  gone  into  the  city."  As  he  ap- 
proached the  spot,  he  scarcely  dared  to  look,  but  when 
he  did  so,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  relief — she  was  not 
there !  there  was  nothing  on  the  ground  but  tho  flick- 
ering shadow  of  the  foliage  and  the  warm  bright  rays 
of  the  newly-risen  sun. 

Who  had  carried  her  awa)',  and  when  had  she  been 
discovered  ?  Had  she  lain  there  alone  all  through  the 
dreary  hours  of  the  night,  or  liad  some  belated  peasant, 
trudging  homeward,  come  upon  her  as  he  had  done,  and 
offered  the  services  to  the  poor  clay  that  he  had  re- 
fused ?  A  sharp  pang  of  remorse  darted  through  his 
heart — he  had  acted  a  cruel  and  selfish  part.  He  had 
taken  the  child  because  it  was  living  and  beautiful, 
and  his  heart  desired  it,  and  had  left  the  dead  mother 
to  the  mercy  of  others. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  sunlit  silence  of  morning 
to  explain  the  mystery  of  the  dreary  night ;  she  was 
gone  and  had  left  no  trace,  save  the  marks  of  footsteps 


I 


FI0RDILI8A. 


on  the  grass ; 


whether  his,  or  another's  wlio  had  come 
to  her  aid,  he  could  not  tell.  lie  could  do  nothing  now, 
BO  remorsefully,  and  dejectedly,  he  retraced  his  steps 
toward  his  hovel  on  the  hill. 

Half  way  up  the  steep  ascent  he  met  a  bright-faced 
peasant  woman,  who  lived  in  a  little  cottage. a  mile  be- 
yond on  the  cotintry  road.  She  had  often  spoken  to  hi  in 
kindly  and  cheerfully,  and  he  had  learned  to  like  her 
and  respect  her ;  she  was  clean  and  thrifty-looking,  and 
he  knew  she  was  honest.  At  once  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  to  entrust  her  with  his  commissions.  She  was 
going  direct  to  the  city  and  would  return  in  a  few 
hours  ;  there  could  certainly  be  no  better  chance. 

"  Good  morning,  Signora,"  he  said  politely,  as  she 
paused  in  the  road  to  return  his  greeting.  "  I  see  you 
are  on  your  way  to  the  city  right  early." 

"  Yes,  Master  Hugo.  I  go  early  to  escape  the  heat. 
But  you,  how  is  it  that  you  seem  to  be  returning  at  this 
hour?" 

"  I  am  not  returning,  Signora,  or  rather  I  have  not 
been  to  the  city,"  replied  Hugo,  stammering  and  con- 
fused. "  I  wish  to  go,  but  I  dare  not."  Then  he  told 
her  briefly  of  what  had  happened  the  day  before,  omit- 
ting, of  coni-se,  his  discovery  and  theft  of  the  child. 

"Ah!  my  friend,  you  are  hardly  dealt  with,"  re- 
turned the  good  woman  compassionately.  "  And  it  is 
a  sin  and  a  shame  to  drive  you  from  the  city  for  no 


FI0RDILI8A. 


88 


other's  wlio  had  come 
could  do  nothing  now, 
he  retraced  his  steps 

he  met  a  bright-faced 
ittle  cottage. a  mile  be- 
lad  often  spoken  to  hi  in 
lad  learned  to  like  her 
nd  thrifty-looking,  and 
!e  the  thought  occurred 
jommissions.  She  was 
ould  return  in  a  few 
no  better  chance. 
B  said  politely,  as  she 
greeting.  "  I  see  you 
t  early." 

irly  to  escape  the  heat. 
I  to  be  returning  at  this 

I,  or  rather  I  have  not 
,  stammering  and  con- 
re  not."  Then  he  told 
d  the  day  before,  omit- 
i  theft  of  the  child, 
lardly  dealt  with,"  re- 
ssionately.  "  And  it  is 
I  from  the  city  for  no 


fiuilt  of  your  own.    What  can  I  do  for  you  there  ?    Tell 
me,  pray,  for  I  shall  be  glad  to  serve  you  in  any  way  I 


can. 


Then  lingo  gave  her  a  list  of  the  articles  wliich  he 
desired  to  purchase,  and  taking  one  of  the  gold  pieces 
tliat  the  Countess  Elena  had  given  him,  from  his  pocket, 
he  placed  it  in  her  hand.  "Bring  me  these  things 
when  you  return,  and  I  shall  be  very  grateful.  I  will 
await  you  here,  so  that  you  will  not  have  to  go  out  of 
your  way." 

"  Very  well,  my  friend,  I  will  do  your  errand  aa 
though  it  were  my  own,  for  I  cannot  tell  how  soon  I 
may  want  a  like  favor  for  myself.  We  none  of  us  know 
what  misfortune  may  come  upon  us,"  and  with  a  cheei*- 
f  ul  addio,  she  started  on  her  way,  singing  a  merry  song, 
as  though  her  heart  was  light  and  free  from  care. 

After  that  Hugo  found  no  trouble  in  communicating 
with  the  city,  for  the  kind-hearted  Nella  undertook  all 
his  commissions  cheerfully,  and  performed  them  care- 
fully and  judiciously. 

When  he  returned  to  his  hovel  his  mind  felt  relieved 
of  a  heavy  load.  The  dead  woman  was  no  longer  near 
him  to  remind  him  of  the  dreadful  scene  of  the  night 
before,  and  his  secret  now  seemed  safe ;  beside,  he  had 
succeeded  in  finding  a  trusty  messenger,  who  would 
bring  him  the  articles  be  needed  for  the  comfort  of  the 
child  that  he  already  loved  so  tenderly. 


84 


FIORDILISA. 


Tho  baby  still  slept,  and  Hugo  sot  abont  preparing,' 
his  simple  breakfast,  and  putting  overything  in  order 

'  about  tho  little  room.  So  many  other  things  had  oc- 
cupied his  thoughts  during  the  morning  that  he  had  for- 
gotten the  clasp  he  had  picked  up  the  previous  night, 
and  was  not  reminded  of  it  until  he  came  upon  it  in  a 
drawer  of  his  table,  where  he  had  placed  it  with  the 

•  blanket  that  had  been  folded  around  tlie  child. 

On  seeing  it  again  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  mys- 
tery and  uncertainty  troubled  him.  Taking  it  to  tho 
door  where  he  could  see  it  in  tho  full  light,  he  turned 
it  over  and  over  and  examined  it  closely  ;  there  were 
nine  points  to  tho  coronet,  and  around  it  a  legend,  in 
small  and  half-efPaced  charactere,  which  he  was  unable 
to  decipher. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  found  this,"  he  said,  anxiously. 
"  I  would  rather  there  had  been  nothing  by  which  she 
could  ever  be  identified.  I  have  a  mind  to  destroy  it ; 
but  no,  I  will  not.  I  will  hide  it,  and  it  can  make  no 
difference.  When  she  is  old  enough  to  underetand, 
she  must  think  that  I  am  her  father,  and  she  must 
never  see  this,  nor  know  that  it  was  on  her  when  she 
was  taken  fi-om  her  mother.  I  will  put  it  with  the 
ring  the  Angel  of  the  Church  gave  me,  and  I  will  wear 
them  always  next  my  heart." 

Drawing  from  his  bosom  a  small  silk  bag  that  con- 
tained a  lock  of  hie  mother's  haii*  and  the  ring  giveu 


THE  MAItniAGE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


85 


0  sot  abont  preparing,' 
g  overything  in  order 
'  other  things  had  oc- 
)rning  that  he  had  fi tr- 
ip the  previous  night, 

1  he  came  upon  it  in  a 
ad  placed  it  with  tho 
und  tlie  child, 
•rtablo  feeling  of  niys- 
m.  Taking  it  to  tho 
B  full  light,  he  turned 
it  closely  ;  there  were 
iround  it  a  legend,  in 
,  which  he  was  unable 

8,"  lie  said,  anxiously. 

nothing  by  which  she 

a  mind  to  destroy  it ; 

it,  and  it  can  make  no 

nough  to  underetand, 

father,  and  she  must 

was  on  her  when  she 

'.  will  put  it  with  the 

ve  me,  and  I  will  wear 

lall  silk  bag  that  con- 
k  and  the  ring  given 


liiin  by  the  Countess  Elena,  he  placed  tho  clasp  with 
tlicni,  shivering  slightly  as  ho  did  so,  for  what  reason 
ho  could  not  tell,  and  then  glancing  furtively  around, 
as  though  the  child  might  see  and  understand,  ho 
returned  his  treasures  to  their  hiding-place,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  supei-stitious  awe  and  foreboding. 


CIIAPTEE  VI.  ,.  . 

TIIK  MARKIAOE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 

NE  morning  all  Florence  was  awake  and  stir- 
ring bright  and  early,  for  a  thrill  of  excite- 
ment ran  through  the  city,  from  tho  highest 
to  tho  lowest.  Tliere  was  to  be  a  great  wedding  in 
the  Dnomo,  on  a  scale  of  splendor  and  magnificence 
never  witnessed,  except  on  the  occasion  of  a  royal  mar- 
riage. 

For  weeks  before  this  day,  tho  fashionable,  who 
expected  to  be  present,  had  done  little  else  than  discuss 
it,  dwelling  on  its  grandeur,  the  wealth  of  the  bride- 
groom, the  beauty  of  the  bride,  the  number  of  the 
bridesmaids,  the  costliness  of  the  decorations,  the  un- 
heard-of pomp  and  show,  the  superb  trousseau,  the 
wonderful  banquet  that  was  to  be  provided  for  huu- 


'«i*#^*- 


86 


THE  MARItlAOE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


dreds  of  ^ncstB,  ii  ehort,  all  things  that  go  (o  make  up 
a  (lisphiy  of  royal  H])loiidoi'. 

Tlio  fortiiimto  and  much-onviod  bride  was  the  Co^.j- 
tcfisa  Elena  Altitnoiiti,  and  the  happy,  and  equally  en- 
vied groom  was  the  Duko  of  CuHtoUara.  , 

At  ati  early  hour,  the  square  in  front  of  tUe  Duomo 
was  filled  with  an  eiiger,  curious  crowd,  in  holiday 
attire,  talking,  laughing,  and  jostling  each  other  goi)d- 
nuturedly,  each  trying  to  get  the  best  places,  where 
they  could  see  to  the  best  advantage  the  elegant  cor- 
U'ljc,  while  the  vast  Duonio  was  packed  in  every  avail- 
able place,  except  tlio  centre  of  the  grand  nave,  which 
•was  kept  clear  by  a  cordon  of  Bersaglieri  in  their 
handsome  green  uniforms  and  plumed  helmets. 

Since  early  morning  the  patient  crowd  had  waited, 
and  now  the  sun  had  nearly  reached  its  meridian,  wher. 
the  rumble  of  wheels  in  the  ■square,  the  tramp  of 
hoi-ses,  and  the  clatter  of  spurs  anu.  sabres,  told  that  the 
splendid  pageant  had  reached  the  door  of  the  cathe- 
dral. First  there  came  a  mounted  guard  in  brilliant 
uniform,  Ferdinand's  own  body-guard,  then  the  officers 
of  the  Grand  Duke's  household,  then  his  Ilighness  in 
liis  gilded  chariot  drawn  by  six  spirited  horses,  then 
the  Cardinal  Bishop  in  his  scarlet  and  gold  equipage, 
followed  by  more  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  then  a 
guard  of  cuirassiers,  then  a  pure  white  chariot  deco- 
rated with  nodding  white  plumes,  and  drawn  by  eight 


I , 


IE  DUOMO, 

s  that  go  (u  mako  up 

J  bride  was  tlio  Coi- 
ippy,  and  equally  en- 
I'Uara.  , 

front  of  the  Dnomo 
18  crowd,  in  holiday 
iiig  cadi  other  goi)d- 
0  best  places,  where 
Laj^e  the  elegant  cor- 
facked  '\\\  every  avail- 
he  grand  nave,  which 

Bersaglieri  in  their 
lined  helmets, 
nt  crowd  had  waited, 
ed  its  meridian,  wher. 
'quare,  the  tramp  of 
vi  aabree,  told  that  the 
ic  door  of  the  cathe- 
ted  guard  in  brilliant 
Hard,  then  the  officers 
then  his  Uighncss  in 

spirited  horses,  then 
it  and  gold  equipage, 

the  Church,  then  a 
3  white  chariot  deco- 
3,  aud  drawn  by  eight 


Tim  MARRIAdK  IN  THE:  DUOMO. 


87 


milk-white  horses  caparisoned  with  housings  of  silver 
ciotli  and  decked  with  wedding  favors.  Witliiu  thirt 
superb  carriage,  as  pale  as  a  beautiful  statue,  Bat  the 
Contcsaa  Elena  Altimonti,  and  by  her  side,  insolent, 
liiuighty.  and  contented,  was  tlio  Duko  of  CastcUara— 
Ferdinand's  favorite,  and  the  wealthiest  noble  in  FU)r- 
euco.  After  them  came  mo  w  gaily  dtn  orated  car- 
riii"08,  lilicd  with  the  bridesmaids  and  the  wedding 
(quests,  and  hist  of  all,  forty  or  tifty  yuinig  cavaliers, 
ill  brilliant  iiniftirms,  mounted  on  prancing  clmi<,'or8, 
ciich  witli  a  wedding  favor  of  the  Altimonti  aud  Cas- 
tellara  colore  blended. 

When  the  beautiful  bride  entered  the  cathedral, 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  her,  unii'Mdful  of  all  else,  for 
a  more  lovely  vision  never  dawned  npc^i)  an  enraptured 
crowd.  Tale  and  graceful  as  a  swaying  lily,  she 
leaned  upon  her  father's  arm.  her  train  of  white  velvet 
floating  behind  her  like  waves  of  sea-foam,  her  satin 
robe,  pearl  embroidered,  clinging  to  her  slender  figure, 
her  arras  and  neck  one  blaze  of  gems,  and  a  coronet 
resting  on  L.r  golden  hair,  of  such  rare  brilliancy  that 
even  royalty  might  envy  it,  while  a  veil  as  delicate  and 
white  as  tlie  spray  of  a  fountain  covered  her  in  ita 
transparent  folds,  softenhig  her  beauty  without  con- 
cealing it. 

The  mighty  organ  buret  forth  in  grandest  melody, 
as  the  Duke  and  hie  bride  stood  before  the  high  altar. 


^igBasfesKiBaBeiaiaitir  ■>■ 


THK  MARRTAOE  W  THE  DUOyfO, 


I'crdinaiK'.  ilcsceiidod  from  liiBclmirof  state,  tlio  Canli- 
iitil  iippn'tx  hod  the  clmncel,  and  tlio  oorciiKmy  that 
M-as  to  iiulu  E!' ua  Altimouti  tho  DticheHs  of  Carttcl- 
lara,  bogaii,  Tlioro  was  profound  Kilcnuo.  Every 
M'ord  of  the  ]>rioHt  was  heard  distinctly,  and  tho  clear, 
proud  voice  of  tho  Diiko  sounded  like  an  exultant  and 
triumphant  »ong;,  as  he  responded,  while  the  li(juid 
tones  of  tho  Contessa  woro  as  ealin  and  Bvveot,  as 
though  ph<)  were  uttering  some  eonuuonplaeo  6eii<<  nco 
in  her  iiitl.'or's  «a/oH. 

Tho  G»  ind  Duko  Ferdinand  gave  her  away,  tho  ring 
was  jdoeed  upon  licr  Ihiger,  and  she  knei'  to  rcr-.eive 
the  benediction  of  the  holy  fatlicr,  like  one  in  a  dream, 
for  her  thoughts  were  far  from  the  splendor  of  tho 
Bceno  around  her.  She  was  living  over  another  liour 
in  lier  life,  a  moment  when  one  she  loved  with  all  her 
Boul  had  knelt  at  her  feet  and  whispored  words  of 
tender  passion  in  her  willing  ear.  So  absorbed  was 
she  in  her  sad  sweet  memories,  that  she  scarce  heard 
the  words  of  the  priest,  the  roll  of  the  organ,  or  tho 
murmur  of  tho  vast  mnltitude  around  her.  At  last  tho 
voice  of  her  hnsband — that  hated  voice — fell  npon  her 
car  and  recalled  her  to  herself.  Without  raising  her 
eyes  to  his,  she  listened  in  silence  to  his  words  of  ten- 
derness, which  seemed  more  like  an  expression  of  tri- 
umph, and  then  turned  to  her  friends,  who  crowded 
around  her  with  their  well-meaut  cougratulatiouB. 


HE  Dunyro, 

ftir  of  state,  tlio  Cunli- 
1(1  tlio  oerciutmy  tlmt 
ho  Diinhcrts  of  Ciirttcl- 
mnd  HileiKto.  Evory 
Uiiu'tly,  aiul  tlio  cltJiir, 
1  like  III)  CMiltant  and 
led,  while  tho  li«jiiid 
calin  and  swoot,  aa 
loniiuouphico  Boiufiiico 

avo  her  away,  tho  rhij^ 
i  she  kiiol'  to  rc-!civo 
r,  like  one  in  a  dream, 
1  the  splendor  of  tho 
iig  over  another  lionr 
sho  loved  with  all  her 
1  whifipored  words  of 
ar.  So  absorbed  was 
that  sho  scarce  heard 
I  of  the  organ,  or  tho 
■ound  her.  At  last  tho 
i  voice — fell  upon  her 
Without  raising  her 
CO  to  his  words  of  ten- 
0  an  expression  of  tri- 
frieuds,  who  crowded 
t  cougratulatiouB. 


_  J 


ffl  ■ ._-,.,. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1^ 

150 


■^     136 

u    Hi 


1^      1^ 

^  m 

2.0 


L25  11114   IIIIII.6 


y 


PhotDgraphic 

Sdences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  »72-4503 


\ 


•N? 


\\ 


rv 


6^ 


L 


I  Mil  1^1 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


% 


THE  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  LUOMO. 


89 


Almost  the  first  one  to  press  to  her  side  was  Enrico, 
who,  pale  as  death,  looked  pityingly  on  the  lovely 
victim  of  a  father's  ambition.  The  silent,  firm  pres- 
sure of  his  fingere,  the  earnest  exprer^sion  of  his  eyes, 
reassured  her,  and  enabled  her  to  overcome  the  emo- 
tion that  threatened  to  vanquish  her  forced  calm- 
ness. 

Again  the  organ  pealed  forth  ;  all  was  over,  and  the 
angels  of  heaven  must  have  wept  at  the  spectacle,  for 
a  greater  mockery  of  all  that  is  holy,  a  more  pitiless 
sacrifice,  a  more  cruel  deception  was  never  practised. 

The  Duchess  of  Castellara  took  the  arm  of  her  hus- 
band, but  as  she  did  so,  she  shot  from  under  her  down- 
cast lids  such  a  glance  of  hate  and  scorn  straight  to 
his  very  soul,  that  he  quailed  under  it,  and  looked 
away  almost  terrified. 

The  brilliant  cortege  filed  ont  of  the  church;  the 
crowd  huzzaed  wildly,  shouting  "  Long  live  the  Duke, 
long  live  the  Duchess ;  "  the  bells  rang  out  their  mer- 
riest peals,  and  amid  the  general  clamor  of  rejoicing 
the  pale  young  bride  drove  away  to  her  future  home, 
the  magnificent  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Castellara. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  have  had  you  look  at  me  that 
way  on  our  wedding  day,  Francesca,"  said  a  good- 
natured  peasant  to  his  buxom  wife,  who  stood  with 
wide  eyes  eagerly  fixed  on  the  Duchess. 

"  How,  foolish  Gito  \     Do  you  expect  the  nobility  to 


irl 


/J).*'- 


90 


THE  MARRIAOE  IN  TUB  DUOMO. 


appear  as  we  do  1  Why,  she  only  looked  pale  and 
proud,  just  as  a  dnclicss  shonld." 

"  She  looked  as  tluHigh  she  wonld  like  to  stab  the 
Duke,  that  was  how  she  looked  to  me."  -^ 

"  Oh,  nonsense.  Why,  her  crown  of  diamonds  was 
as  handsome  as  a  queen's." 

"  And  hei-  face  as  pale  and  fixed  as  a  corpse." 

"And  the  pearls  on  her  necklace  as  large  as  my 

thumb." 

"  She  never  smiled  once.  I  watched  her  face  all 
the  time.     She  never  raised  her  eyes  to  her  husband's, 

once." 

"  Did  you  notice  the  length  of  her  train,  and  such 
velvet  to  drag  over  the  ground!  She  never  even 
raised  it  when  she  entered  her  carriage,"  said  a  shop- 
keeper, ruefully. 

"Do  you  think  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  would 
take  the  trouble  to  lift  her  train  ? "  asked  a  little  milli- 
ner near  him.  "  I  only  wonder  she  did  not  have  a 
couple  of  pages  to  bear  it." 

"  They  must  have  bought  all  the  white  plumes  in 
Florence.  I  have  counted  more  than  fifty  on  the 
bride's  chariot,"  returned  the  shopman.  "  Well,  it  is  a 
good  thing  for  we  poor  people  who  work.  1  wish  the 
Duke  of  Castellara  would  get  married  every  day." 

"  So  do  we,"  cried  a  group  of  children.  "Have  you 
heard  what  they  are  going  to  do  % " 


of 
\\\ 
\\\ 


of 

si! 
cc 
ai 
a^ 

t{ 
h 

8' 


E  DUOMO. 

\y  looked  pale  and 

iild  like  to  stab  the 

me." 

'n  of  diamonds  was 

I  as  a  corpse." 

lace  as  large  as  my 

matched  her  face  all 
es  to  her  husband's, 

her  train,  and  such 
I  She  never  even 
irriage,"  said  a  shop- 

of  Castellara  would 

'  asked  a  little  milli- 

she  did  not  have  a 

he  white  plumes  in 
3  than  fifty  on  the 
man.  "Well,  it  is  a 
lo  work.  1  wish  the 
•ried  every  day." 
dildren.    "  Have  you 


THE  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


91 


«No.    Whatisit!"  *  -    \  v.     . 

"The  Duke's  majordomo  is  going  to  shower  lots 
of  confetti  in  the  square,  and  bags  of  silver  coiu-so 
nuidi'that  those  who  pick  it  up  will  be  rich  all  tlieir 

lives."  .  , .  T    1 

"  Is  that  true  1    Ah  1  his  highness  has  the  right  kmd 

of  a  heart  after  all.    Now,  look  out  cava  mia  for  the 

silver,  and  let  the  confetti  go.     Silver  will  buy  all  the 

confetti  you  want,  but  confetti  will  not  buy  silver, 

and,  with  this  sage  advice,  the  man  of  business  walked 

away.  ., 

"  I  dare  say  old  Giovan  would  like  to  be  a  child, 

too,  so  that  he  might  get  some,"  said  a  pert  little  girl 

holding  up  her  apron  in  anticipation  of  the  shower  of 

sweets  that  would  be  poured  into  it. 

«  I'm  glad  that  it  is  only  for  the  children,  else  the 

grown  people  would  push  us  little  folk  aside,  and  get 

it  all." 

«  They  can't  do  that,  for,  yon  see  all  these  soldiers 
standing  about  to  prevent  them,  and,  it  will  be  like 
stealing,  if  they  take  any.  The  Duke  gave  orders  that 
it  w»s  only  for  the  children,"  said  a  pale,  eager  boy, 
coming  forward  anxiously. 

Presently,  while  they  all  pressed  nearer  to  the  main 
entrance  of  the  Duomo,  the  stately  majordomo  came 
down  the  steps,  followed  by  two  servants  bearing  each 
a  huge  bag. 


THE  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


"  There  is  the  confetti  !  there  is  the  money,"  they 
all  cried,  excitedly. 

With  one  majestic  wave  of  his  hand,  he  cleared  a 
space  around  him  while  he  said,  in  a  loud,  pompous 
voice :  "  His  highness,  the  Duke  of  Castellara,  has  re- 
membered the  children  of  Florence  on  this,  his  wed- 
ding day,  and  has  ordered  me  to  distribute  among  yon 
three  thousand  mezsi  liri  and  a  number  of  bushels  of 
confettV 

Before  the  majordomo  had  well  finished  his  speech 
the  air  was  rent  with  the  joyous  cry  of  "  Long  live  the 
Duke  of  Castellara,  long  live  the  Duke  ! "  Then  each 
of  the  servants  raising  their  hands,  threw  out  over  the 
crowd,  handful  after  handful  of  confetti  mingled  with 
email  silver  coins. 

Then  such  a  wild  scene  as  ensued  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  describe ;  children  rushing  pell-mell  over  each 
other.  The  strong  and  greedy  snatching  from  the 
timid  and  weak  what  they  had  picked  up,  one  jostling 
aside  another  just  as  his  tingera  were  about  to  close  on 
a  coveted  piece — shouts,  laughter,  groans,  tears  and 
cries  of  rage  and  disappointment  all  mingled  together, 
And  when,  from  time  to  time,  some  poor  trembling 
beggar  who  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  stealthily 
snatch  a  piece  was  detected  by  one  of  the  soldiers  and 
rudely  made  to  disgorge,  a  yell  of  delight  would  rise 
from  the  crowd,  for  the  rights  of  the  children  were 


g 

o 

f 
a 
t 
c 

E 

< 


IE  DUOMO. 
is  the  money,"  they 

8  hand,  he  cleared  a 
,  in  a  loiid,  pompous 
of  Castellara,  has  re- 
!nce  on  this,-  his  wcd- 
distribute  among  yon 
number  of  bushels  of 

11  finished  his  speech 
jry  of  "  Long  live  the 
Duke  ! "  Then  each 
is,  threw  out  over  the 
confetti  mingled  with 

led  would  be  impossi- 
g  pell-mell  over  each 
snatching  from  the 
Ickcd  np,  one  jostling 
,'ere  about  to  close  on 
3r,  groans,  tears  and 
all  mingled  together, 
some  poor  trembling 
imptation  to  stealthily 
le  of  the  soldiers  and 
>f  delight  would  rise 
af  the  children  were 


THE  MARniAOE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


98 


generally  respected  ;  the  adults  standing  by  to  cheer 
on  their  own  offspring,  or  the  strong  and  rapacious  who 
got  the  most  in  the  stniggle.     At  length  the  last  hand- 
ful was  dispensed,  and  the  last  howl  of  delight  uttered, 
and  the  dense  crowd  gradually  dispersed,  some  con- 
tented with  their  share  of  the  spoils,  others  crying  and 
complaining  over  their  disappointment  and  the  bruises 
and  blows  they  had  received,  but  all,  nevertheless,  well 
satisfied  that  the  Duke  of  Castellara  was  a  good,  gener- 
ous man  and  a  public  benefactor,  who  had  dispensed 
his  charity  right  nobly  and  judiciously  on  this  his  wed- 
ding day. 

While  this  rude  scene  was  taking  place  in  the  square 
of  the  Duomo,  the  banquet  at  the  Ducal  palace  was 
progressing  on  a  scale  of  magnificence  and  splendor 
seldom,  if  ever,  equalled. 

The  Duke,  with  the  Duchess  by  his  side,  received  his 
guests  in  the  most  courtly  manner,  indicating  the  place 
of  each  one  at  the  banquet ;  Ferdinand  and  the  Court 
first,  and  after  them  each  noble  according  to  his  title, 
and  each  officer  according  to  his  rank.  When  all  were 
seated  and  the  gilded  covere  were  removed,  it  seemed 
as  though  every  dainty  and  rarity  had  been  gathered 
from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth.  Fruits  from  the 
tropics,  birds  and  game  from  the  far  North,  fish  from 
all  the  rivers  of  the  earth,  wines  from  every  vintage 
under  the  bud. 


^m 


THE  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  LUOMO. 


Gold  and  silver  dishes  of  antique  workmanship  were 
piled  with  rare  fruit  and  decorated  with  costl)'  exotics. 
Platters  of  delicate  Sevres  wai-e,  each  a  work  of  art  in 
itself,  held  the  game  and  meats  of  every  description, 
which  were  served  to  the  guests  on  plates  of  oriental 
china  as  thin  and  richly  colored  as  the  petals  of  a 
flower,  while  the  wine  flowed  in  old  Venetian  glasses  as 
delicate  and  transparent  as  hubbies.  Nothing  was 
wanted  at  this  Lucullean  banquet  that  money  could 
procure  or  the  most  extravagant  taste  devise,  and  yet 
the  Duke  did  not  seem  satisfied  with  the  result,  for 
while  the  wine  flowed  as  freely  as  the  wit  of  his  guests, 
and  the  merry  laughter  of  fair  maidens  mingled  with 
the  gay  badinage  of  their  cavaliore,  his  Duchess  re- 
mained silent,  sad,  and  indifferent. 

When  the  moment  arrived  for  the  bride  to  cut  the 
bridal  cake,  as  was  the  custom,  all  stood  up  and  the 
Duke,  with  a  graceful  and  pleasant  speech  gave  her 
the  gold  knife,  while  Ferdinand  held  her  fan;  but, 
instead  of  performing  the  simple  ceremony,  she  de- 
clined, with  a  cold  and  haughty  bow,  and  requested  her 
maid  of  honor,  who  stood  behind  her,  to  do  it  for  her. 
Then,  without  appearing  to  notice  the  Duke,  who  was 
greatly  annoyed  at  this  breach  of  etiquette,  she  turned 
and  made  some  remark  to  Ferdinand,  who  sat  on  her 
right. 

"  The  Contessa  Elena  always  was  eccentric,"  said  one 


HE  LUOMO, 

[lie  workmanship  were 
ed  with  codtl)'  exotics, 
cadi  a  work  of  art  in 
of  every  description, 
3  on  plates  of  oriental 
)d  as  the  petals  of  a 
>ld  Venetian  glasses  as 
bbles.  Nothing  was 
let  that  money  could 
taste  devise,  and  yet 
[  with  the  result,  for 
J  the  wit  of  his  guests, 
laidens  mingled  with 
iera,  his  Duchess  re- 
it. 

I"  the  bride  to  cut  the 
all  stood  up  and  the 
3ant  speech  gave  her 
[  held  her  fan ;  but, 
le  ceremony,  she  de- 
ow,  and  requested  her 
[  her,  to  do  it  for  her. 
le  the  Duke,  who  was 
etiquette,  she  turned 
inand,  who  sat  on  her 

as  eccentric,"  said  one 


TUB  MARBIAOE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


95 


of  her  admirers  in  reply  to  the  remark  of  a  lady  next 
him,  "and  now  that  she  is  a  bride  and  a  duchess,  she 
has  a  better  right  than  ever  to  indulge  in  her  little 

whims." 

«  But  the  Duke  is  in  a  fearful  rage,"  said  the  lady. 
"  See  how  pale  he  is,  and  how  he  gnaws  his  upper  lip. 
I  should  not  like  to  offend  him  so  openly.  It  is  a  bad 
beginning,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  never  be  happy." 

"  Bah !  what  difference,  entre  mm,  she  has  bought 
her  coronet,  and  she  must  pay  for  it ;  but  she  must 
not  drive  the  Duke  to  the  wall,  for  he  is  a  dangerous 

enemy."  ^^      '^  ■'  ' 

"  She  looks  resolute  and  proud  enough  to  be  a  match 
for  him,  and  more  than  that,  she  seems  most  unhappy. 
I  am  sure  she  never  became  Castellara's  wife  of  her 
own  free  will ;  there  must  have  been  some  coercion, 
which  she  is  revenging  on  him  by  treating  him  with 
this  studied  coldness  and  scorn." 

"  Ah  I  how  you  fair  creatures  like  to  speculate,  and 
weave  romances  out  of  the  most  practical  things.  It 
seems  to  me  very  reasonable  that  she  should  marry 
him,  for  who  co>    i  .-esist  Castellara,  gilded  as  he  is  ?  " 

At  that  moment  L  ;e  Duchess  rose  from  the  table,  the 
royal  guest  retired,  and  the  grand  banquet,  that  had 
been  the  talk  of  all  Florence,  was  over. 

An  hour  later  the  Duchess,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
Enrico,  entered  a  small  hovdoir,  fitted  up  with  the 


m 


THE  MARUIAOE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


iiioftf.  Gxqiiirtifo  taflto,  and  redolent  with  tho  perfume  of 
rtowois,  wliitili  were  placed  ever}- where  In  luvish  pro- 
fusion. 

With  a  heavy  si<,'h  she  withdrew  her  arm  from  her 
cousin's,  and  throwing  herself  wearily  into  a  chair  she 
Baid  :  "  Well,  Enrico,  what  have  you  to  Bay  to  mo  that 
recpiires  this  privacy?  Tho  DuchcHS  of  Castellara 
must  not  absent  herself  from  her  guests  on  her  wed- 
ding day,  so  pray  bo  brief." 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  long,  cousin,  for  I  well  know 
that  the  time  is  inopportune,  but  I  am  so  anxious  to 
ask  you  why  you  have  so  steadily  refused  to  sco  me 
over  since  your  betrothal  to  the  Duke.  Did  we  not 
agree  to  be  tho  closest  and  dearest  friends  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear  Enrico,  wo  did,  and  my  part  of  the 
compact  is  unbroken.  You  are  the  only  friend  I  have 
on  earth  beside  my  father." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  see  me  before  your  mar- 
riage ? " 

"I  did  not  know  you  wished  to  see  me.  I  was  not 
told  of  your  visits.  I  denied  myself  to  every  one,  but 
never  to  you  ;  it  was  a  mistake  that  yon  were  not 
admitted,  for  I  needed  your  friendship  as  I  never  have 
before.     O  Enrico  I  I  am  too  wretched." 

"  And  all  Florence  is  envying  yon  your  good  for- 
tune." 

"  Ah !  my  God  1  if  tliey  only  knew  how  gladly  I 


V 

ti 
\ 

1 
t 

s 


■R  nUOMO. 

with  tlio  perfume  of 
where  In  luvish  pro- 

V  her  arm  from  her 
iirily  into  a  chair  she 
on  to  say  to  mo  that 
iichesB  of  Castelhira 
guests  on  her  wed- 

isin,  for  I  well  know 
I  am  so  anxious  to 

y  refused  to  sco  me 
Duke.  Did  we  not 
friends?" 

md  my  part   of  the 

10  only  friend  I  have 

le  before  your  mar- 

)  see  me.  I  was  not 
iclf  to  every  one,  but 
that  yon  were  not 
iship  as  I  never  have 
ched." 
:  yon  your  good  for- 

knew  how  gladly  I 


TUB  MARRI'OE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


97 


wonld  change  places  with  the  meanest  peasant  who 
today  gazed  with  open-mouthod  ailmiratlon  at  my 
pomj)  and  splendor." 

«  I  do  not  understand  you,  Elena,"  returned  Enrico 
gravely,  "you  are  a  strange  contradiction.  Wlicn  1 
last  talked  with  you,  yon  assured'  mo  most  solemnly 
that  you  would  never  marry  the  Duko  of  Castollara, 
a-id  yot,  three  days  after,  your  engagement  to  him  was 
announced.    Why  did  you  change  so  suddenly?" 

"  I  was  forced  to  accept  him.  You  surely  do  not 
think  me  so  weak  and  base  as  to  marry  him  voluu 

tarily?" 

«  Forced  1  I  scarcely  comprehend  your  meaning. 
What  coercion  was  powerful  enough  to  hasten  you  to 
such  sudden  decision  1 " 

"My  cousin,  it  is  a  secret  that  I  never  intended 
t,hould  pass  my  lips,  but  you  I  can  trust ;  beside,  I 
\\:sh  to  offer  some  extenuating  reason  to  you  for  my 
conduct.  I  married  the  Duko  of  Castelhira  to  save 
my  father  from  irretrievable  ruin." 

"Your  father  from  mini  What  can  you  mean, 
Elena?       Surely    your     trouble     has     turned     your 

brain." 

«  Alasl  no,  Enrico,  it  is  too  true,  my  unhappy  father 
was  in  the  power  of  the  Duke.  F.)r  years  we  have 
lived  upon  the  wealth  of  the  man  I  treated  vith  scorn 
and  contempt,  and  all  that  appears  to  belong  *.o  my 


-*^""""^' 


98 


THE  MARRIAGE  IN  TUB  DUOMO. 


father  JB  not  hio,  but  tho  property  of  tho  Duke  of  CaB- 
tclkra." 

"  Elciift,  yon  nuist  bo  jcstiiij?.  AVho  could  }mvo  told 
yon  this  silly  talo?"  cried  Enrico  in  afltoniHhiuent. 

"  My  ftithor  told  mo  tho  huuiiliatin<;  story  of  his 
ruin,  with  his  own- lips,  and  entrcatod  nio  to  savu 
hi  in  from  utter  beggary." 

"  Your  father !  My  undo  I  Can  it  bo  possible  ? 
What  could  have  induced  him  to  utter  snch  a  false- 
hood ?  Tho  Altimonti  estate,  though  small,  is  unencum- 
bered. Your  father  is  a  wealthy  man.  I  surely  should 
know,  for  I  receive  my  revenue  from  tho  same  prop- 
erty." 

"Oh!  my  cousin,  arc  yon  snro  of  what  you  assert ? 
Tell  mo  quickly,  I  pray  you,  for  I  cannot  endnro  to 
think  that  I  am  the  victim  of  my  father's  deception." 

"  I  am  positive  of  what  I  have  told  y<ju,  and  I  have 
every  means  of  knowing  there  was  no  such  necessity. 
It  was  but  a  plot  to  force  you  into  compliance.  Your 
father  well  knew  tho  strength  of  your  iilial  affection 
for  him,  and  used  it  to  subserve  his  ambition.  IIo 
knew  that  what  von  would  resist  with  all  the  strenirth 
of  your  soul,  you  would  finally  agree  to  fi-ora  a  sense 
of  duty  to  him." 

During  Enrico's  words  tho  Duchess  stood  before 
him  as  pale  and  still  as  marble,  her  hands  clenched, 
her  lips  compressed,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 


'IE  DUOMO. 
of  the  Diiko  uf  Coa- 

Who  could  Imvc  told 
in  aHtonmliiucnt. 
lillatini^  Btory   uf  hia 
itreated  ino  to    eavo 

Dan  it  bo  possible  ? 
:o  uttor  such  a  falac- 
gh  small,  is  unenuuin- 
iiian.  I  surely  should 
from  the  same  prop- 

!  of  what  yon  assert  ? 
I  oannot  CJidnro  to 
father's  deception." 
told  y(ju,  and  I  have 
as  no  such  necessity. 
:)  compliance.  Your 
'  yonr  iilial  affection 
e  his  ambition.  lie 
ivith  all  the  strength 
igree  to  fi-ora  a  sense 

>uches8  stood  before 
her  hands  clenched, 
yea  filled  with  tears 


TUE  MARniAQK  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


00 


that  did  not  fall.     At  last  she  spoko  in  lov  measured 
tones,  as  though  her  heart  were  uttering  the  words  in- 

Btead  of  her  lips :  «    ,     ,    , 

«If  this  bo  true,  then  -I  am  the  victim  of  the  father 
whom  I  loved  and  trusted,  and  ho  has  been  .ny  most 
cruel  enemy,  and  1  caimot  revenge  myself  upon  him, 
because  ho  is  my  father.  There  is  nothing  good,  or 
holy,  or  pure  in  life,  and  there  are  none  wo  can  trust, 
not  even  those  who  brought  ns  into  the  world ;  they 
even  are  destitute  of  natural  affection,  and  will  sacri- 
lico  their  own  offspring  to  ambition  and  wealth.  But 
it  is  too  late  now.    Had  I  known  this  before,  I  nught 

have  been  saved." 

«  Had  they  allowed  mo  to  see  you,  I  should  have  dis- 
covered their  plot,  and  frustrated  their  plans.  I  feared 
there  was  some  treachery  when  1  was  so  constantly 

refused."  ^ . 

"  And  do  yon  think  the  Duke  was  a  party  to  this 

cruel  conspiracy?" 

«'l  know  not,  but  I  presume  he  was  the  instigator, 
and  first  proposed  it  to  your  father  as  a  means  of  win- 
ning you."  . 

« My  father,  and  my  husband,  the  two  bemgs  i 
should  love  best  on  earth,  are  from  this  moment  my 
most  bitter  enemies;  and  they  shall  rue  tho  hour  when 
they  plotted  my  ruin.  Enrico,  bear  witness  to  what  I 
Bay,  the  Duke  of  Castellara  shall  be  punished  as  sure  as 


100 


THE  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  DUOMO. 


there  is  a  God  in  Heaven !  I  will  bido  my  time.  I 
will  wait  patiently  for  the  hour  of  my  vengeance.  I 
am  an  Altimonti,  and  I  inherit  something  of  my 
father's  implacable  nature,  for  I  never  forget  an  in- 
jury. Henceforth  I  stand  alone,  my  heart  and  soul 
opposed  to  every  living  thing," 

"  Not  to  me,  Elena,  surely  not  to  me  !  "  cried  Enrico 
alarmed  at  her  violence. 

"  I  said  to  all  the  world  ;  I  trust  no  one.  My 
father  has  deceived  mc,  and  you  would  do  the  same 
if  it  served  your  interests." 

"  Never,  as  God  hears  me,  never." 

"  I  trust  no  one.  Remember  what  I  have  said.  Fare- 
well, the  Duchess  of  Castellara  must  return  to  her 
guests." 

And  with  a  low  bow,  and  a  bitter  mocking  laugh 
she  raised  the  silken  curtain  over  the  door  and  disap- 
peared, leaving  Enrico  motionless  with  surprise  and 
sorrow. 


H  DUOMO. 

I  bido  ray  time.  I 
:  my  vengeance.  I 
something  of  my 
lever  forget  an  in- 
ny  heart  and  soul 

me ! "  cried  Enrico 

Tust  no  one.    My 
would  do  the  same 


;  I  have  said.  Fare- 
lust  return  to  her 

:er  mocking  langh 
he  door  and  disap- 
with  surprise  and 


81QN0BA  PIA. 


101 


CHAPTER  VII. 


SIONORA    PIA. 


lELL  me,  papa,  please,  what  is  there  fastened  to 
this  black  cord  you  always  wear  around  your 
neck?"  asked  a  child  of  eight  years,  a  fair, 
blue-eyed,  golden-haired  girl,  wlio  clung  to  a  pale, 
deformed  man,  caressing  him  affectionately,  pressing 
her  rosy  cheeks  to  his  sallow  face,  and  smoothing  hia 
long,  dark  locks  with  her  white  dimpled  fingei-s. 

The  child  was  Fiordilisa,  the  babe  that  was  stolen 
from  her  mother,  as  she  lay  under  the  cypress  tree 
near  San  Salvador,  and  the  man  was  Hugo  the  hunch- 
back, who  h'vd  carried  her  in  his  arms,  trembling  with 
fear,  to  his  hovel  on  San  Miniato. 

The  infant  had  lived  and  prospered  under  the  tender 
care  of  Hugo.  Shut  out  from  the  world,  with  no  com- 
panions save  her  father  and  Nana,  the  goat,  she  knew 
nothing  of  a  life  beyond  the  church  and  the  hill  of 
San  Miniato,  yet  she  was  contented,  healthy,  and 
happy,  and  as  beautiful  as  a  poet's  dream,  while  she 
loved  the  strange,  deformed  man  with  the  unselfish, 
trusting  affection  of  childhood,  that  neither  questions 


,. ,',( i- 


I' 

I 
I 


$^ 


S'^ 


102 


aiGNOBA  PIA. 


nor  exacts,  taking  what  is  given  it  gratefully  and 
cheerfully. 

They  were  sitting  on  a  rude  bench  under  the  cypress 
— or  rather,  Hugo  was  sitting,  and  the  child  stood 
beside  him  witli  one  arm  thrown  fondly  around  his 
neck,  when  a  small  silken  cord  just  visible  above  his 
open  collar  attracted  her  attention,  and  caused  her  to 
ask  the  question  at  the  opening  of  the  chapter. 

Hugo  did  not  reply,  but  looked  uneasily  away 
toward  the  city  below  him,  while  an  expression  of  fear 
and  anxiety  crossed  his  face. 

Again  the  child,  with  gentle  pereistency,  repeated 
the  question,  "Tell  me,  papa,  what  is  there  on  the 
cord  ?    Is  it  an  Agnus  Dei  ?  " 

"  No,  Lisa,  it  is  a  ring  that  I  have  worn  for  a  long 
time." 

"  A  ring  ?  Oh,  let  me  see  it,  papa.  I  never  saw  a 
ring." 

"Certainly,  darling,  if  you  wish  to,"  said  Hugo, 
taking  the  ring  reluctantly  from  the  little  bag,  which 
he  held  closely,  fearful  lest  the  clasp  that  the  babe 
had  worn  might  meet  the  eye  of  the  child.  "  I  have 
never  parted  with  it  for  a  moment,"  he  said,  kissing  it 
reverently,  as  he  laid  it  in  Lisa's  outstretched  palm. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  I  "  she  exclaimed,  turning  the  band 
on  her  rosy  finger,  while  she  examined  it  closely.  "  It 
has  a  picture  on  it,  papa,  such  ^  tiny  picture." 


\^ 


it  gratefully  and 

h  under  the  cypress 
id  the  child  stood 
fondly  around  his 
it  visible  above  his 
,  and  caused  her  to 
he  chapter, 
ced  uneasily  away 
1  expression  of  fear 

jreistency,  repeated 
at  is  there  on  the 

,ve  worn  for  a  long 

ipa.    I  never  saw  a 

h  to,"  said  Hugo, 
le  little  bag,  which 
lasp  that  the  babe 
he  child.  "  I  have 
'  he  said,  kissing  it 
stretched  palm. 
i,  turning  the  band 
led  it  closely.  "  It 
y  picture." 


8IGN0RA  PIA. 


103 


« It  is  a  coronet,  my  child.  It  was  given  me  by  a 
good  and  noble  lady." 

"  A  good  and  noblo  lady  !  Ah  1  papa,  I  know  who 
gave  it  you.  It  was  the  one  you  call  the  Angel  of  the 
Church,  the  one  whose  image  you  carved  so  beauti- 
fully, and  whom  you  said  I  might  love  next  to  the 
Holy  Virgin."  ■      - 

"  Yes,  my  Lisa,  you  are  right ;  it  was  she  who  gave 
me  the  ring  when  I  was  in  sore  trouble  and  near  to 
death ;  when  I  was  poor,  despised,  and  friendless." 

"O  i)apa!  why  were  you  despised  and  friendless, 
why  were  you  in  trouble?"  and  the  child  put  her 
arms  around  him  in  a  pitying,  protecting  way,  while 
tears  filled  lier  eyes,  and  fell  over  Hugo's  face  as  she 
pressed  her  soft  cheek  to  his. 

« Never  mind,  darling;  don't  weep;  every  pain  I 
have  suffered  is  not  worth  a  tear  from  your  sweet  eyes, 
and  my  troubles  are  over  now.  I  have  you  to  love, 
and  so  it  does  not  matter  what  happened  to  me  in  those 
sorrowful  days ;  so  kiss  the  ring,  dear  child,  and  I  will 
put  it  away ;  for  my  heart  is  restless  when  my  treasure 

is  not  near  it." 

Lisa  pressed  her  pretty  lips  to  the  gold  band  with 
lingering  fondness,  and  then,  giving  it  to  Hugo,  she 
said  softly,  and  with  a  shy,  downcast  look:  "I  love  it, 
too,  because  the  lady  was  good  to  you  ;  but,  papa,  when 
I  first  saw  it,  I  thought  you  would  tell  me  that  it  had 


mWrm'i'mfiiri'-iTTirr'-'^r'''f'^''-"'r>''^'^' 


% 


104 


81QN0RA  PIA. 


I 


belonged  to  my  mamma ;  that  she  had  worn  it,  and 
given  it  to  you  when  slie  died  ;  for  you  remember  you 
told  me  once  that  she  was  dead." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ilugo,  with  sudden  pallor.  "  I  told 
you  she  was  dead." 

"  She  died  when  I  was  a  very  little  baby  then,  for  1 
cannot  remember  her.  Oh,  liow  I  wish  I  could  remem- 
ber her." 

"  You  were  too  young  when  she  died ;  you  were  but 
an  infant." 

"  Why  do  yon  never  talk  to  me  of  her,  papa  ?  " 

"  Because,  Lisa,  it  makes  jne  unhappy ;  and  I  wish 
to  foi'get  her." 

"  Wish  to  forget  my  mamma  ?  Is  that  right,  to  for- 
get those  you  have  loved  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  tlie  memory  causes  us  pain,  my  child." 

"  And  did  she  make  you  unhappy,  that  you  wish  to 
forget  her  ? " 

"  Hush !  hush !  Lisa !  do  not  speak  of  that ;  it  hurts 
me  to  hear  it.     Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"Poor  papa,"  she  said,  tenderly,  trying  to  stroke 
away  the  trouble  she  saw  in  his  face  ;  "  don't  look  so 
sad,  and  we  will  talk  of  the  noble  lady,  *  the  Angel  of 
the  Church,'  and  that  will  make  you  happier." 

"Yes,  Lisa,  talk  of  her,  think  of  her;  and  so  your 
thoughts  will  be  nearer  heaven." 

"  Is  she  in  heaven,  papa  ? " 


le  had  worn  it,  and 
■  you  remember  you 

len  pallor.    "  I  told 

ttle  baby  then,  for  1 
wish  I  could  remem- 

died ;  you  were  but 

)f  her,  papa  ?  " 
ihappy  ;  and  I  wish 

Is  that  right,  to  for- 

us  pain,  my  child." 
py,  that  you  wish  to 

ak  of  that ;  it  hurts 

thing  else." 

y,  trying  to  stroke 

ice  ;  "  don't  look  so 

lady, '  the  Angel  of 

u  happier." 

f  her;  and  so  your 


SIQNORA  PIA. 


105 


«  No,  my  child,  she  is  on  earth ;  but  the  memory  of 
her  charity  and  goodness  makes  a  heaven  in  my  heart 
when  I  think  of  her." 
"  And  do  you  never  see  her,  papa  1 " 
"  No,  my  child,  she  is  a  great  lady.    She  is  the 
Duchess  of  Castcllara.     She  lives  in  Florence,  where  I 
never  go,  only  in  secret.     For  eight  years  I  have  not 
seen  her,  but  1  remember  her  as  well  as  tliough  it  were 
but  yesterday  that  she  stood  before  me  in  the  cliurch  ; 
and  I  shall  see  her  again,  some  time,  wlien  I  am  more 
worthy  of  her  kindness  than  I  am  now.     But  see,  my 
Lisa,  it  is  growing  late ;  the  sun  is  nearly  down,  and 
you  have  not  yet  recited  your  lesson." 

«  Oh,  papa !  I  have  not  learned  it.  I  am  so  sorry  ; 
but  after  I  sat  for  you  to  model  my  face,  I  was  so  tired 
with  keeping  still  that  Nana  and  I  had  to  run  around 
the  convent  garden.  And  then  it  was  warm,  and  it  is 
so  quiet  there  since  the  monks  went  away,  that  1  fell 
asleep  and  only  awoke  when  you  called  me." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  forgive  you,"  and  Hugo 
smiled  indulgently  at  her  innocent  excuses.  "But 
bring  your  book  and  recite  your  lesson  with  me,  for 
my  Lisa  must  not  grow  up  ignorant  and  stupid.  I  be- 
gan to  teach  myself  to  read  when  I  was  but  a  few  years 
older  than  you  are,  and  I  was  all  alone  in  the  world 
and  had  no  one  to  help  me— only  now  and  then  when 

Father  Ilario,  a  good  monk  who  went  to  Kome  years 
6* 


''A 


1 


,    :U- 


r.'Ti'  iiritii'iii'i'--" 


^HiS.sWliMWMk'' 


-iMttiuisc.i^e^d^M^&S^ 


V, 


'  .♦* 


106 


8IQN0RA  PIA. 


ago,  loaned  me  a  book  ov  pointed  out  the  lettcre  to  me 
on  the  scraps  of  journals  I  picked  up  in  the  streets ; 
but  I  was  never  discouraged,  and  afterwards  I  found 
my  books  my  greatest  comfort.  And  since  I  have  had 
you,  while  you  were  sleeping  at  night,  I  have  sat  by 
your  bed  and  studied,  that  l'  might  be  able  to  teach 
you  when  you  were  old  enough  to  learn.  Now  the 
time  has  come,  and  you  must  begin  to  study.  So  run 
and  fetch  your  book."  ■ 

"  Yes,  papa,  and  to-morrow  I  will  not  be  so  idle," 
said  the  docile  child,  as  she  ran  to  obey  her  father,  her 
beautiful  hair  making  sunlight  about  her,  and  her  eyes 
radiant  with  life  and  happiness. 

In  a  moment  she  returned  with  her  book,  and  lean- 
ing against  the  hunchback's  shoulder,  with  her  arm 
around  his  bowed  neck,  aiid  her  cheek  pressed  close  to 
his,  she  recited  with  him  her  lesfon,  which  was  to  open 
the  door  of  poetry  and  romance  to  her  ardent  young 
heart. 

Then  when  the  sun  was  low  and  its  last  rays  lingered 
for  a  moment  on  the  topmost  tower  of  the  church, 
gilding  the  sombre  walls  of  the  convent  and  the  for- 
tress of  the  great  Angelo,  Lisa  saw  it  vanish,  leaving  all 
in  purple  shadow,  saw  the  red  line  of  light  in  the  west 
beyond  the  black  cypress,  and  the  city  below  like  a 
vapory  violet  sea,  just  as  she  had  seen  it  all  a  hundred 
timee,  without  being  aware  of  its  grandeur  and  beauty — 


it  the  lettcre  to  me 
lip  in  the  streets  ; 
ifterwards  I  found 
id  since  I  have  had 
ight,  I  have  sat  by 
t  be  able  to  teach 

0  learn.     Now  the 

1  to  study.     So  run 

ill  not  be  so  idle," 
ibey  her  father,  her 
it  her,  and  her  eyes 

er  book,  and  lean- 
cler,  with  her  arm 
sek  pressed  close  to 
,  which  was  to  open 
her  ardent  young 

ts  last  rays  lingered 
Bver  of  the  church, 
nivent  and  the  for- 
t  vanish,  leaving  all 
of  light  in  the  west 
I  city  below  like  a 
een  it  all  a  hundred 
.ndeur  and  beauty — 


BJGNOSA  PIA. 


#. 


107 


and  without  one  lingering  glance.  After  she  had  fin- 
ished her  lesson,  she  kissed  her  father  lovingly,  and 
with  a  good-night  to  Kana,  who  browsed  near,  she  ran 
away  to  her  humble  bed  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  innocent 
childhood,  watched  over  by  that  God  who  cares  for  IL's 
lowliest  creature.  -  • 

For  a  long  while  after  the  child  had  left  him  Hugo 
Bat  there  in  deep  thought.  It  was  the  eighth  anniver- 
sary of  the  night  that  he  had  brought  her  home,  and 
for  eight  years  he  had  kept  his  secret,  and  enjoyed  his 
happiness  undisturbed— for  eight  years  he  had  lived  in 
the  retirement  of  his  little  cottage,  without  exciting 
curiosity  or  suspicion,  and  he  had  prospered,  too,  and 
made  wonderful  strides  in  his  art. 

For  several  years  the  honest  Nella  had  been  his  only 
medium  of  communication  with  the  city ;  he  had  mod- 
elled and  carved  his  cherubic  figures,  which  she  car- 
ried to  the  dealer  on  the  Fonte  Vecchio,  who  took  them 
as  soon  as  they  were  finished,  and  now  paid  more  liber- 
ally for  them  than  he  did  at  fii-st,  for  he  found  that 
they  were  the  production  of  genius,  and  sold  at  once  to 
strangers  and  lovere  of  art  for  six  times  the  price  he 
allowed  the  poor  artist  who  made  them. 

Hugo  was  frugal  and  industrious,  and  it  cost  but 
little  for  him  and  the  child  to  live,  though  he -gave 
her  good  wholesome  food,  and  dressed  her  neatly  in 
quaint  little  garments  that  ho  fashioned  with  his  own 


108 


aiONOBA  PIA. 


i 


li 


hands  ;  therefore  ho  was  able  to  save  quite  a  sum,  and 
when  Lisa  was  a  few  years  old  he  had,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  an  honest  workman,  enlarged  his  hovel  to  a 
comfortable  little  cottage  of  three  rooms,  and  these  he 
had  decorated  after  his  own  fashion  until  they  were 
not  only  cheerful  and  picturesque,  but  almost  luxu- 
rious in  their  dainty  arrangement. 

He  had  planted  flowers  everywhere,  and  a  little 
vineyard  flourished  on  the  hillside  near  a  well-kep', 
garden,  where  at  early  dawn  the  hunchback  could 
always  be  seen  digging,  weeding,  and  pruning.  Some- 
times the  fair-haired  child  was  at  his  side,  but  oftener 
he  was  alone,  for  he  preferred  that  she  should  sleep 
until  his  out-door  labor  was  over  and  his  humble  break- 
fast was  spread.  Then  the  remainder  of  the  day  was 
devoted  to  his  art,  when  Lisa  patiently  posed  to  him 
for  hours  together,  never  complaining  of  weai'iness  if 
her  father  needed  her ;  always  docile,  swee*,  and  pa- 
tient, she  seemed  more  like  the  angels  he  modelled 
than  an  earthly  child. 

When  Lisa  was  between  five  and  six  years  old,  his 
trusty  messenger,  Nella,  went  to  live  on  a  little  farm  at 
Fisole,  and  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  city  to  transact 
his  own  business,  which  he  did  from  time  to  time,  never 
lingening  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary,  and 
always  avoiding  his  old  haunts.  But  sUch  precaution 
was  no  longer  necessary,  for  his  little  tormentors  had 


v^e  quite  a  Bum,  and 
bad,  with  the  assist- 
pged  his  hovel  to  a 
rooms,  and  these  lie 
on  until  they  were 
I,  but  almost  luxu- 

p'here,  and  a  little 
e  near  a  well-kep^, 
hunchback  could 
id  pruning.  Some- 
lis  side,  but  oftener 
t  she  should  sleep 
J  his  humble  break- 
der  of  the  day  was 
ently  posed  to  him 
ing  of  weariness  if 
cile,  swee*,  and  pa- 
mgels  he  modelled 

d  six  years  old,  his 
3  on  a  little  farm  at 
the  city  to  transact 
time  to  time,  never 
tely  necessary,  and 
ut  sttch  precaution 
:tle  tormentors  had 


BIQNORA  riA. 


100 


grown  out  of  their  childish  mischief,  or  had  forgotten 
hi„.,  and  as  he  was  well  dressed  and  respectable  look- 
ing, he  passed  through  the  city  without  being  disturbed.      . 
Smi  he  never  entered  the  gate  of  San  Miniato  that  he 
did  not  experience  an  uncomfortable  feeling,  aud  ho 
was  never  quite  at  his  ease  until  he  found  himself  on 
his  way  back,  and  in  sight  of  his  own  little  cottage 
under  the  two  tall  cypress  trees. 

On  this  eighth  atmiversary  of  the  day  when  he  had 
brought  the  infant  to  his  hovel,  ho  had  completed  the 
most  important  work  he  had  ever  attempted,  the  fi^.re 
of  a  child  pursuing  a  butterfly,  and  he  was  satisfied 
with  it  as  he  had  never  been  before  with  anything  that 
he  had  done.    He  well  knew  that  it  was  exquisite  m 
form,  graceful,  plastic,  full  of  movement,  that  the  up- 
lifted hands  and  radiant  face  expressed  clukbsh,  e  u- 
berant  life,  the  earnest  eyes  expectancy  and  desire     lie 
bad  succeeded  in  representing  marvellously  well  what 
was  in  his  soul  and  what  he  had  modelled  from,  for  the 
statue  was  the  matchless  image  of  ^^--./-"f '  ^^;^* 
were,  from  softly-rounded  flesh  into  cold  fixed  marble. 
Ue  was  thinking  now  of  his  work  as  he  sat  there 
alone  in  the  gathering  twilight,  and  a  ^-J-S  ^^/^ 
satisfaction,  at  its  successful  completion,  failed  Ins  heart. 
«  God  has  been  good  to  me,  much  better  than  I  have 
deserved,  and  I  will  go  to  the  church  and  return  thanks 
to  Him  for  all  His  mercies.    The  bells  of  San  Sal- 


;;,  J.!" 


110 


8IGN0RA  PIA. 


vador  aro  ringing  for  Vespers,  they  Bcem  to  crU  mo 
with  their  dear,  sweet  tones,  and  I  will  obey  them. 
My  Lisa  sleeps,  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  will  watch  over 
her  initil  I  return. 

Going  slowly  down  the  liill  toward  the  chnrch,  his 
thoughts  naturally  reverted  to  that  night  eight  ycai-s 
before.  It  was  about  the  same  hour,  the  sweet,  solemn 
Ave  Maria,  and  already  the  shadows  were  gathering 
under  the  cypresss  trees,  but  surely  thnt  was  not  a  shadow, 
the  dark  object  which  ho  saw  ci-oiiched  on  the  ground 
as  though  it  were  praying  or  weeping. 

For  a  njonient  the  old  foeling  of  supei-stition  and 
horror  took  possession  of  him,  jjorhaps  it  was  the  spirit 
of  tho  mother  that  hud  returned  to  weep  on  tho  spot 
M'here  her  child  had  been  taken  from  her. 

Ilis  lieart  ceased  to  beat,  his  limbs  seemed  palsied, 
and  ho  could  neither  advance  nor  retreat,  great  drops 
of  sweat  streamed  down  his  face,  and  a  thick  mist 
gathered  before  his  eyes.  lu  a  moment  ho  certaiidy 
won  Id  have  fallen  to  the  ground,  for  reason  and  strength 
deserted  him  at  once,  had  not  the  figure  covejed  its  face 
suddenly  and  bui-st  into  loud  sobs. 

There  was  something  linmaji  in  such  grief  that 
touched  tho  tender  chord  in  Hugo's  nature ;  recovering 
himself  immediately  he  went  toward  the  woman,  for 
he  now  saw  that  it  was  a  woman  and  no  spirit,  and  i)ut- 
tjng  his  hand  gently  on  her  bent  head  he  asked  her 


y  Boom  to  (!r»ll  mo 

I  will  obey  them. 

•gin  will  watch  over 

ird  the  church,  his 
t  night  eight  ycni-s 
•,  the  sweet,  solemn 
)W8  were  gathering 
it  was  not  a  sliadow, 
hed  on  the  ground 
iig. 

if  siipei-stition  and 
ips  it  was  the  spirit 
3  weep  on  the  spot 
n  her.  , 

bs  seemed  palsied, 
etreat,  great  drops 
and  a  thick  mist 
)ment  he  certainly 
■eason  and  strength 
ire  covej-ed  its  face 

1  Buch  grief  that 
latnre;  recovering 
I'd  the  woman,  for 
no  spirit,  and  put- 
lead  he  asked  her 


B  t-fi'if-itiili 


SJONOIU  PIA. 

11„  had  oflon  \«n  in  6..ro  iiocd  lnn».  It,  nt  1 1 
J,      „u  luB  knee,  in  «.,n.  U.noly  .,«,.  .n     uu,i..n 
;■;,;;;,,  „ia. .in,,  B„.,o  ..now  .,owu,,l.y.uo.i,eru,.nc,, 

"  tTwoinan  r.i«d  hor  1,c.d  .t  .ho  «,nnd  uf  hi.  volc^ 

hending  over  her,  which  in   the  Bathen,,«  d.>k„.» 
scorned  n,o™  lilio  »n  evil  Bl«it  tin."  a  S'^mo.        ,^ 
"  n^  « the  g«tn,-e  with  hitter  ,.ain,  hnt  nevert    - 
,«  Wened  to  re«n,.  her,  ..ying  gently     Do 
,„„r  me,  I  an,  a  poor  n,l«.h.i,en  ereature,  it  »    no.  In, 
,       .  ■      Jh^     I  have  ...ffered  ,ny«elf,  »i"l  I 
;::;:r:o;^^lr:..,oa,.oindi.tre..    Te,,^ 

%irr:i:^-'-..rd..e.ry,aeet„hi. 

J,,„oreeo,,Me,,ce,forhi..y,nvaO--':;°'f^ 

tonehed  her  heart,  and  .he  no  longer  teared  h.m.       1 
irllgry  and  weary,"  .he  said  ;"ean  yon  gtvetne 

'':';::'itr:iiiyonhoth,",.p.iednn^p.«t»p.iy-, 

-rXVll'— d;.nde.n.no-,,er. 
T„„f:nof.no„eywonldhe«.ele»,^rlhave»o 

strength  to  find  a  Pl""^'''""'*^  "'"*''• 


h 

t';' 


l! 


1/ 


na 


aiQNORA  PJA, 


"  Why  ftro  you  liero  hoyoiid  the  city  1  You  could 
Bcarco  oxpoct  sucdor  in  tliis  lonely  Bj)Ot." 

"  I  have  coino  from  a  long  diBtanco.  I  am  foot- 
Boro  with  my  jouriioyiiij^  over  rough  mads,  and  I 
thought  to  roach  the  city  to-night;  but  my  strength 
has  failed  mo,  and  I  cannot  go  o!i.  I  did  not  expect 
aid  hero  on  this  deserted  road,  yet  I  prayed  to  tho 
Virgin,  and  she  has  heard  me  when  1  least  hojHsd  for 
it." 

"  Have  you  friendb  in  Florence,  and  a  shelter  when 
you  reach  the  city  ? " 

"Alas I  no,  Signore,  I  am  alone  in  tho  world." 

"You  cannot  bo  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  for  your 
speech  seems  to  bo  that  of  Tuscany  "i" 

"  I  am  a  native  of  Florence,  Signore,  but  I  have 
been  absent  for  years."  ;  j  ,.  ,  * 

"  And  now  you  would  return ! " 

"  Yes,  but  (t(xI  ojily  knows  why,  for  I  have  neither 
kith  nor  kin,  nor  any  to  welcome  mo." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  your  native  city  to  seek  a  home 
among  strangers  ?  "  asked  Hugo,  watching  her  closely. 

"  Ah  1  Signore,  who  can  tell  what  prompts  the  human 
heart  to  seek  for  change  'i  " 

"  It  was  no  misfortune,  no  fault  then  of  your  own  ? 
I  pray  you  to  deal  fairly  with  me,  for  I  have  a  good 
reason  for  all  I  ask." 

"  I  will,  Signore,  for  something  in  your  manner  in- 


irt  immmm»iiimnmm<rvn 


SIONOUA  VIA. 


113 


)  city?    You  could 

B[)Ot." 

Htanuo.  I  am  foot- 
'oiigh  i-oads,  and  I 
t ;  but  my  etrongtli 
I  did  not  oxpcut 
■ot  I  prayed  to  tlio 
Ml  I  least  hojHid  for 

and  a  sheltor  when 

in  the  world." 
heso  parts,  for  your 

ignore,  but  I  havo 


for  I  have  neither 

0." 

uity  to  seek  a  home 
atuhing  her  closely, 
prompts  the  humau 

then  of  your  own  ? 
for  I  have  a  good 

n  your  manner  in- 


,pirc8  me  with  contid.nco.  It  was  a  misfortune,  but 
„ot  a  fault,  that  causfd  me  to  U>avo  Florence. 

«  Werp  you  forced  to  quit  tho  city  T' 

«  No  I  was  not  forced,  but  1  feared  to  stay  ;  I  prny 
you  ask  me  no  ,noro,  fur  my  secret  is  n.y  own,  and  1 

ciuinot  reveal  it." 

«  You  feared  to  stay,  and  now  yon  daro  return,  how 
iH  that  1    Does  the  misfortune  that  (paused  yon  to  leave 

no  longer  exist  T' 

"  I  know  not,  Signoro-1  cannot  say.  I  bog  you  to 
nuestion  n.e  no  more.  1  am  returning  m  the  l.ope  that 
I  am  forgotten  by  the  few  who  once  knew  me,  and  I 
think  I  shall  not  be  disappointed,  for  my  foruier  self 
would  never  be  recognized  in  the  poor  wayfarer  before 

^''"  Yonr  speech  shows  that  yonr  positi<m  in  life  must 
have  once  been  superior  to  your  present  condition. 
«It    was,  Signore,  I  was    respectably    born    and 

reared."  ,        .,       , . 

For  a  moment  Hugo  remained  in  silent  thought, 
while  the  woman  leaned  wearily  against  the  trunk  of 
a  cypress,  as  thongh  her  strength  was  well  n.gh  ex- 
hausted.     At  length  he  spoke  again,  gravely,  and 

^fron  are  a  stranger  to  me,  and  I  know  nanghtof 
vonr  character,  whether  it  be  good  or  evil,  but  I  like 
your  speech,  and  I  believe  you  to  be  an  honest  woman. 


i  iliiiirri-iVtt.VlfimiTI-fWT" ■^»~»-»--'.»~.>«'^»M«PMM™ll&«MB»«'*^-° 


ii. 


i 


T 


114 


aiGNORA  PIA. 


1  am  an  artist,  and  I  live  alone  in  a  little  cottage  yon- 
der with  my  only  child,  a  girl  of  eight  ycare.  For 
some  time  I  have  needed  a  trusty  woman  to  take 
charge  of  my  hnmble  household  ;  but  I  have  always 
shruidi  from  admitting  a  stranger  into  the  peaceable 
privacy  of  my  home,  and  particularly  a  woman  that 
would  brawl  and  gossip,  and  run  into  the  town,  and 
have  a  crowd  of  relatives  and  followers  after  her;  who 
would  eat  and  drink  and  waste  ray  substance — for  that 
is  what  a  servant  does — instead  of  being  quiet,  indus- 
trious, and  frugal ;  a  common,  coarse  woman  that 
would  malce  my  little  Lisa  like  herself  from  being  so 
constantly  with  her,  and  who  would  do  both  her  and 
me  more  harm  than  good. 

"  Such  as  these  are  all  that  I  have  hitherto  been  able 
to  find,  and  I  want  none  of  them  ;  but  you  seem  of  a 
different  character,  your  speech  is  gentle  and  refined, 
and  you  have  no  relations  to  annoy  me,  and  no  interest 
in  tlie  city,  and  no  motive  to  gossip.  Therefore,  if  you 
will  accept  ray  humble  offer,  I  will  give  you  food  and 
shelter  and  what  further  I  can  spare,  and  you  will  in 
I'eturn  take  care  of  my  child  and  keep  ray  house  neat 
and  clean,  use  your  needle  to  fashion  our  garments, 
and  in  short  do  all  you  can  for  my  intei'est.  Do  yon 
accept  these  conditions  ?  " 

"  Thankfully  and  willingly,  S ignore,  for  all  I  ask  in 
this  world  is  what  you  have  offered  me — a  respectable 


'  v4h^«£t%U(^«IBiRl!W:^flMiB-'- 


h>Mi»>ffWwiriirBWifr' 


1  a  little  cottage  yon- 
of  eight  ycara.  For 
iisty  woman  to  take 
I ;  but  I  have  always 
r  into  the  peaceable 
ularly  a  woman  that 
1  into  the  town,  and 
owera  after  her;  who 
y  substance — for  that 
f  being  quiet,  indus- 
coarse  woman  that 
erself  from  being  so 
uld  do  both  her  and 

ive  hitherto  been  able 
;  but  you  seem  of  a 
s  gentle  and  refined, 
y  me,  and  no  interest 
p.  Theref  oi-e,  if  you 
ill  give  you  food  and 
pare,  and  you  will  in 
I  keep  my  house  neat 
ishion  our  garments, 
ly  intei'est.    Do  you 

jnore,  for  all  I  ask  in 
ed  me — a  respectable 


BIQNORA  riA. 


115 


roof  to  shelter  me  and  honest  labor  for  my  hands. 
God  surely  has  sent  you  to  me  in  my  Bore  need,  and  I 
will  go  with  you  gladly." 

« Then  let  us  hasten  from  here,  for  night  is  fast 
gathering,  and  you  need  food  and  rest,"  said  Hugo, 
kindly  assisting  her  to  mount  the  steep  ascent. 

She  could  not  have  gone  on  alone,  for  more  than 
once  she  stopped  and  seemed  about  to  sink  to  the 
-n-ound  ;  but  the  hunchback  supported  her  feeble  steps, 
and  encouraged  her  to  renewed  eifort,  until  he  reached 
the  gate  that  opened  mto  his  little  garden.  '  -« ' 

"Ah!  this  looks  like  home.  1  am  sure  I  shall  find 
peace  here,"  said  the  stranger  with  heartfelt  gratitude, 
as  Hugo  ushered  her  into  his  neat  apartment  that 
served  Is  sa^o«,  Btudio,  and  dining-room. 

When  he  had  brought  a  light,  and  the  woman  had 
removed  her  veil  that  partly  hid  her  features,  Hugo 
looked  at  her  a  moment  with  a  close  .scrutiny  that  evi- 
dently satisfied  him,  for  he  put  the  lamp  on  a  table  and 
poured  her  a  glass  of  wine,  which  she  drank  eagerly, 
l(X)king  at  him  with  tearful,  thankful  eyes  when  she 
had  emptied  the  glass. 

She  was  evidently  fifty  years  of  age,  with  a  thin, 
sad  face  full  of  intelligence  and  gentleness,  smooth  gray 
hair  combed  neatly  back  from  a  frank,  open  forehead, 
quiet  manners,  and  a  low,  soft  voice. 

While  Hugo  went  to  seek  some  food  for  her,  she 


-iijMiliHiiirn''^'|  niiiiMflMiwnn 


umiimaiwuWT 


iMaeiwrwi<ffii''»?gaw»aji«i«t«&" 


116 


aiGNORA  PIA. 


% 


carefully  studied  the  pretty  room  with  a  contented  ex- 
pression on  her  worn  face,  and  when  he  returned  she 
said  in  a  broken  voice : 

"  How  can  I  be  thankful  enough  to  you  1  It  seems 
like  Heaven  to  me  here  after  the  weariness  and  suffer- 
insr  I  have  endured."  * 

"  If  I  have  made  one  human  being  happy,  I  am  con- 
tented," said  Hugo ;  "  but  do  not  thank  me,  thank  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  who  sent  me  to  you.  Now  take  this 
food,  and  then  you  may  sleep  in  Lisa's  little  room,  for 
you  surely  need  rest— but  first  tell  me  your  name,  for 
I  know  not  what  to  call  you." 

"  I  am  called,"  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
added,  "  you  may  call  me  Pia,  Signora  Pia." 

"  Now  I  will  show  you  my  child,"  said  Hugo,  tak- 
ing the  lamp,  "  and  you  will  love  her  when  you  see 
what  an  angel  she  is." 

An  hour  afterward  Signora  Pia,  instead  of  reposing 
peacefully,  as  a  weary  traveller  should,  was  kneeling 
by  the  bed  of  the  sleeping  child,  weeping  as  though 
her  heart  would  break. 


^■3 


t; 


FA. 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


117 


n  with  a  contented  ex- 
when  he  returned  she 


ugh  to  you  1  It  seems 
le  wearhiesB  and  suffer- 

being  happy,  1  am  con- 
ot  thank  me,  thank  tho 
to  you.  Now  take  this 
a  Lisa's  little  room,  for 
tell  me  your  name,  for 

1  a  moment,  and  then 
Signora  Pia." 
child,"  said  Hugo,  tak- 
love  her  when  you  see 

?ia,  instead  of  reposing 
r  should,  was  kneeling 
did,  weeping  as  though 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 


USA    AND    THE    DUCHESS. 


TIE  Duchess  of  Castellara  was  alone  in  her 
morning  room,  as  it  was  too  early  for  visitors 
to  be  admitted,  yet  she  was  evidently  expect- 
ing some  one,  and,  judging  from  her  expression  of  im- 
paUence  and  vexation,  tho  anticipated  interview  was 
not  of  a  pleasant  nature. 

She  was  exquisitely  dressed  in  a  morning  toilette  of 
pale  blue  silk  neglige  over  a  petticoat  of  delicate 
embroidery,  white  slippers  ornamented  with  golden 
buckles  set  with  pearls,  soft  lace  around  her  neck  and 
arms,  and  a  dainty  little  cap  with  blue  ribbons  set  jaunt- 
ily on  one  side  of  a  tower  of  golden  puffs  and  curls ; 
her  white  hands  were  covered  with  jewels,  and  strings 
of  immense  pearls  were  twisted  around  her  neck  and 
arras,  while  the  clasps  that  fastened  her  robe  each  con- 
tained a  pearl  pure  enough,  and  of  such  a  size  as  to 
render  it  worthy  a  princely  diadem. 

In  one  hand  she  held  a  gold-mounted  fan,  and  a 
handkerchief  of  the  most  delicate  texture,  in  the  other 
a  book  in  costly  binding,  which  she  only  glanced  at 


118 


LISA  AND  TUE  DUCHESS. 


I 
I, 


■I 


11 


from  time  to  time,  being  evidently  too  much  disturbed 
to  read  or  even  think. 

Tlie  room  was  a  marvel  of  luxurious  splendor ;  a 
white  velvet  carpet  strewn  with  roses  and  lilies  cov- 
ered the  centre  of  the  inlaid  floor.  Mirrors  in  frosted 
silver  frames  decorated  the  walls,  which  were  frescoed 
in  the  most  artistic  and  dainty  style,  each  panel  dis- 
playing some  charming  rural  scene  after  the  manner 
of  Watteau,  while  the  ceiling  was  covered  with  pale 
blue  silk,  studded  with  silver  stars  and  upheld  by  tiio 
chubby  hands  of  winged  loves,  wrought  from  the  same 
precious  metal.  The  furniture  was  of  heavy  white 
satin  and  velvet,  strewn  with  pale  roses,  and  yellow 
green  moss,  picked  out  here  and  there  with  silver 
threads ;  and  the  lamps  that  depended  from  the  ceil- 
ing, and  the  sconces  between  the  mirrors  were  of  the 
most  delicate  Venetian  workmanship.  Roses  and  lilies 
bloomed  everywhere  in  transparent  crystal  vases,  and 
a  little  fountain  of  crystal  and  silver  threw  its  misty 
spray  over  a  bed  of  moss  studded  with  odorous  Parma 
violets. 

Surrounded  by  such  beauty  and  fragi-ance,  how  could 
the  lovely  face  of  the  Duchess  be  clouded,  and  her 
heart  be  heavy  ? 

Alas  1  for  her,  ii?r  splendor  was  what  the  gilded  bars 
of  the  cage  are  to  the  poor  bird  that  beats  itself  to 
death  in  the  vaiu  effort  to  regain  its  liberty.    This 


)UGHE83. 

\y  too  much  disturbed 

laxurious  splendor ;  a 
1  roses  and  lilies  cov- 
)r.  Mirrors  in  frosted 
3,  which  were  frescoed 

style,  each  panel  dis- 
cene  after  the  manner 
(ras  covered  with  pale 
u-s  and  uplield  by  tlio 
iprought  from  the  same 
e  was  of  heavy  white 
)ale  roses,  and  yellow 
and  there  with  silver 
pended  from  the  ceil- 
le  mirrors  were  of  the 
iship.  Roses  and  lilies 
irent  crystal  vases,  and 
1  silver  threw  its  misty 
3d  with  odorous  Parma 

id  fragi'ance,  how  could 
I  be  clouded,  and  her 

as  what  the  gilded  bai-s 
ird  that  beats  itself  to 
gain  its  liberty.    This 


L18A  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


119 


magnilicent  palace  with  its  countless  rooms,  its  gold 
and  silver,  and  precious  stones,  its  pictures  and  statu- 
ary, and  costly  tapestry,  its  fountains  and  gardens,  and 
all  its  pomp  and  splendor,  was  her  prison,  and  so  to  her 
was  no  more  than  the  dreariest  cell  where  a  weary  con- 
vict pines  and  longs  for  frcedc>m  or  death. 

At  length,  the  Duchess,  wearied  with  waiting,  touches 
a  bell  on  the  table  near  her,  i.nd  a  smart  Frenchwoman 
with  keen  eyes  and  silken  speech,  enters. 

"Lisette,  ask  the  Duke's  valet  if  his  master  is  still  in 
his  chamber.  I  am  not  inclined  to  await  his  visit  much 
longer."   >-    '■}'.:^"  ■/?■'•,.'--■*      ^'I-,      ■   •■? 

"  He  is  dressing,  your  highness,  his  barber  is  with 

him." 

"  This  is  too  disgusting ;  it  is  midday,  and  other  visi- 
tors will  soon  arrive ;  and  I  wished  to  get  rid  of  this 
hateful  interview  fii-st,"  said  the  Duchess  to  hereelf,  as 
the  door  closed  upon  her  maid. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  for  six  weeks,  and  why  shoidd 
1  now?  I  really  cannot  understand  why  he  wishes  to 
intrude  upon  my  privacy  this  morning.  I  suppose  I 
must  endure  it,  as  he  announced  his  desire  for  an  in- 
terview. What  can  he  have  to  say  ?  I  wonder  that  he 
cannot  communicate  to  me  through  my  father,  or  my 
man  of  affairs.  Some  absurd  nonsense,  I  suppose,  about 
the  Duke  de  Beaumont ;  and  he  may  as  well  save  his 
breath  as  to  waste  it,  for  if  the  Duke  de  Beaumont 


mkm-  tflffai'i'  >Tin  I  trif-'TTIi  .^  -^^r^l^^  ■  >"'" :5Kjf»^";-Se'iJ??*=*t£**-C»aWW*Wf -i- 


120 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


%>■' 


contributes  anything  in  the  world  to  my  pleasure,  and 
if  his  society  relieves  a  little  the  ennui  that  is  gnawing 
my  heart  out,  I  shall  receive  him,  and  accept  his  atten- 
tions in  spite  of  all  the  world,  or  the  Duke  of  Castellara 
either."  '  *■ 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  her  door,  and 
a  stately  servant  in  scarlet  and  gold  livery  announced 
his  highness,  the  Duke  of  Castellara. 

The  Duchess  rose  with  dignity,  and  bowed  coldly. 
The  Duke  advanced  and  took  her  hand,  pressing  it 
ceremonionsly  to  his  lips. 

The  Duchess  was  the  first  to  speak :  "  To  what  do  I 
owe  the  honor  of  your  visit  this  morning,  Duke  ?  "    • 

"  Allow  me  to  sit  down,  Duchess,  for  the  laboi-s  of 
my  toilette  have  fatigued  me ;  and  then  1  will  answer 
your  question." 

"  Oh !  pray  choose  your  own  time ;  at  yonr  age  one 
moves  slowly,  and  is  not  hurried  by  the  impetuosity  of 
youth,"  returned  the  Duchess  with  cutting  sarcasm. 

"  Thank  yon  ;  you  are  inclined  to  be  more  charming 
and  gracious  than  usual,  this  morning,"  replied  the 
Duke  with  cool  irony. 

"  If  your  highness  has  anything  of  importance  to 
communicate  to  me,  1  beg  that  you  will  do  so ;  that  is, 
if  you  are  sufficiently  rested  to  endure  the  exertion  of 
speech,  as  I  expect  other  visitors  and  I  should  like  to 
bo  at  liberty  to  receive  them." 


M(H 


WHESS. 

I  to  my  pleasure,  and 
nnui  t'lat  is  gnawing 
and  accept  his  atten- 
10  Duke  of  Cttstellara 

nock  at  her  door,  and 

old  livery  announced 

ira. 

<f,  and  bowed  coldly. 

iier  hand,  pressing  it 

peak :  "  To  what  do  I 
lorning,  Duke  % " 
ess,  for  the  laboi-s  of 
ud  then  1  will  answer 

ime  ;  at  your  age  one 
by  the  impetuosity  of 
h  cutting  sarcasm, 
to  be  more  charming 
norning,"  replied  the 

ing  of  importance  to 
on  will  do  so ;  that  is, 
sndure  the  exertion  of 
)  and  I  should  like  to 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCBE88. 


121 


«  Ah  I  the  Duke  de  Beaumont,  I  presume  1" 

«*  Yes  I  await  the  Duke  do  Beaumont." 

..Your  frankness  is  only  exceeded  by  your  impa-      . 
tience,  which  you  may  as  well  curb  a  little,  as  our  mter- 
view  is  not  likely  to  be  a  short  one." 

« Indeed  1"  ,  ,. 

..I  believe  it  is  eight  years  since  you  became  the 
Duchess  of  CastoUam.    Am  I  not  right «»  _   ^   _ 

..According  to  the  calendar,  you  are  right,  Duke 
but  according  to  my  own  reckoning  of  the  tune,  I 
should  say  it  had  been  eight  eternities. 

.« You  are  extravagant;  there  can  bo  but  one  eter- 
nity, and  that  sits  well  upon  you,  for  you  l-lj/-^" 
and  more  charming  than  you  did  on  our  weddrng-day. 

The  Duchess  made  no  reply,  but  impatiently  twirled 
her  fan,  while  she  smiled  scornfully. 

..  It  looms  that  wo  cannot  agree  as  to  the  time  that 
vou  have  been  the  Duchess  of  Castellara,  but  that  mat- 
C  little,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  it  haa  been  long 

onough  to  have  taught  you  prudence." 
« In  what  respect,  Duke?" 
..I^  respect  I  your  liaiso.  with  the  DAe  de  Be.u- 

Tlled.  I  wa.  no.  .ware  that  I  had  been  .o  im- 
prudent And  i£  it  were  trno,  is  it  not  a  oom"™  f^ 
Idigniaed  expreseion  to  u»  to  the  Duohe»  of  C.^ 
tellaral" 


-JjiJi>V*->*fc«'lftS^=*^'**i^''*'^  *^'-**'***'' *' 


122 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


I 


"I  should  Bay  not  when  all  Florence  couples  your 
name  with  your  French  lover." 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  insult  mc,  for  I  am  not  in 
the  mood  to  bear  it,"  returned  the  Duchess  rising  sud- 
denly, pacing  the  floor  rapidly,  her  face  deadly  pale,  her 
eyes  glittering  ominously. 

"  I  am  telling  you  but  the  truth." 

"  Then,  I  pray  you,  select  your  language,  for  it  oflfends 
me  with  its  coarseness,  and  finish  your  vulgar  slander  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  I  repeat  again  that  it  is  not  slander,  that  it  is  the 
result  of  your  own  folly." 

"Well,  providing  that  be  true,  of  what  use  to  retail 
it  to  me  ?  I  have  heard  the  same  story  from  your  lips  a 
dozen  times  before,  and  it  makes  no  more  impression 
on  me  than  a  bubble  on  a  wall  of  adamant." 

"P'or  Heaven's  sake,  if  you  have  no  respect  for  your- 
self have  some  for  the  name  you  bear ;  do  not  drag  it 
through  the  mire  and  dirt." 

"  The  name  I  bear  is  as  hateful  to  me  as  the  one  who 
conferred  it  upon  me  by  the  basest  deception.  I  re- 
spect neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  and  if  without 
ruining  my  own  self  I  could  blacken  your  name,  I 
would  make  it  darker  and  viler  than  the  lowest  pit  in 
the  infernal  regions." 

"  Truly  an  amiable  and  pleasant  declaration ;  but  I 
will  prevent  you  from  disgracing  me  any  further." 


'UCUESS. 

Florence  couples  yonr 

It  mc,  for  I  am  not  in 
10  Dueliess  rising  snd- 
r  face  deadly  pale,  her 

h." 

language,  for  it  oflfends 

your  vulgar  slander  as 

slander,  that  it  is  the 

,  of  what  use  to  retail 
story  from  your  lips  a 
8  no  more  impression 

adamant." 
e  no  respect  for  your- 

bear ;  do  not  drag  it 

to  me  as  the  one  who 
lest  deception.  I  re- 
^ther,  and  if  without 
lacken  your  name,  I 
than  the  lowest  pit  in 

nt  declaration;  but  I 
me  any  further." 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS 


128 


"You  will  never  prevent  me  if  I  choose  to  do  it 
When  you  and  my  father  plotted  «>y  sacriticc,  you  did 
.ot  thi..k  tlmt  you  were  turning  the  honey  of  n>y  nature 
into  gall,  that  you  were  changing  a  gentle  and  lovn.g 
woman  into  a  demon  of  hate  and  scorn.  Or  if  you 
thought  it  you  did  not  care.  You  have  made  me  a  reck- 
less, heartless  woman.    Now  reap  the  reward  of  your 

own  crime."  •      ^ 

«  Then  you  will  not  listen  to  me ;  then  you  will  not 
promise  to  break  off  this  intimacy  with  de  Beaumont 

«No  1  have  told  you  before  that  1  w.U  not;  he 
amuses'me  and  pleases  me,  and  I  will  not  be  deprived 

of  his  society."  ,  „ 

» 1  forbid  you  to  receive  him  to-day.  I  am  resolved. 

"And  1  am  resolved  to  see  him.    1  pray  that  you 
will  not  drive  me  to  some  disgraceful  extremity." 

«  He  shall  not  enter  my  palace." 

"Then  I  will  meet  him  clandestinely,  and  all  the 
world  will  know  that  the  Duke  of  Castellara  suspects 
the  honor  of  his  wife,  and  has  closed  his  door  against 

^' «ih  1  "you  madden  me,  and  I  will  not  endure  this 

"^  nll'n  you  help  it.  I  have  told  you  dozens  of 
times  that  it  waa  folly  for  you  to  interfei-e  with  my 
affah-s.  I  leave  you  to  go  your  way ;  pray  oblige  me  by 
giving  me  the  same  privilege." 


124 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


«  Do  yon  intend  to  drive  with  de  Boaiimont  to-day 
in  the  Cascino?" 

"  I  liavc  made  an  engagement  witli  hitn  to  do  ao,  and 
I  never  brealc  a  proiniso." 

"  Then,  hy  heaven,  you  shall  break  this  one,  for  you 
shall  not  appear  in  public  again  by  his  side." 

"  How  will  you  prevent  it ?" 

"I  will  kill  him  !  "  cried  the  Duke,  now  fairly  be- 
side himself  with  rage  and  indignation  at  the  cold  con- 
tempt of  the  Ducliess. 

"  What  folly  to  jnake  a  threat  that  you  will  not  put 
into  execution." 

'*  Has  the  Duke  of  Castellara  over  had  the  reputation 
of  being  a  coward  ?  Has  he  over  suffered  a  rival  to 
come  between  him  and  his  honor  ?  I  toll  you  if  you 
drive  today  on  the  Cascino  with  the  Duke  do  Beau- 
mont, before  this  time  to-raori-ow  ho  will  be  in  eter- 
nity." 

"  And  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  disgraced  forever  I 
for  what  is  now  only  the  suspicion  of  the  evil-minded, 
will  be  then  a  certainty  to  the  good  and  noble.  De- 
stroy your  own  honor  if  you  will,  debase  your  own 
name  if  it  suits  you,  but  I  shall  drive  to-day  with  the 
Duke  de  Beaumont.  I  have  the  honor  of  wishing  your 
highness  good-morning;  other  visitors  await  me,"  and 
with  a  haughty  bow  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  left  the 
room  before  her  husband  could  utter  another  word. 


UMMiaNJMM^aWBM.^ 


DUCHESS. 
ith  do  Boaiiinoitt  to-day 

it  with  him  to  do  so,  and 

break  tliis  one,  for  yoii 
II  by  Jiis  side." 

Iio  Duke,  now  fairly  be- 
ignation  at  the  cold  con- 
it  that  you  will  not  put 

over  had  the  reputation 
ever  suffered  a  rival  to 
lor  ?  I  toll  you  if  you 
ith  the  Duke  do  Beau- 
row  ho  will  bo  in  ©ter- 

lara  disgraced  forever  I 
don  of  the  evil-tninded, 
good  and  noble.  De- 
will,  debfwo  your  own 
II  drive  to-day  with  the 
0  honor  of  wishing  your 
visitors  await  me,"  and 
39  of  Castellara  left  the 
utter  another  word. 


LISA  AND  TJIfC  DUCHESS. 


191 


When  the  Duchess  left  her  husband,  her  heart  full 
of  an«or  and  hate,  she  f-iuul  Enrico,  with  a  troubled 
mid  anxious  face,  waiting  to  see  her. 

"  I  ftui  so  ghi.l  y(»u  are  not  gone  out,  cousin,"  ho  said, 
us  he  tcK,k  her  hand  and  led  her  to  a  chair,"  for  1  have 
a  request  to  nmko  of  you  that  will  not  ad.nit  of  delay. 

«  Indeed !  what  can  it  be  that  requires  such  unme-    t 
diuto  attention  ?" 

"Elena,  I  ask  you  as  a  favor  not  to  drive  with  the 
Duke  de  lieauniont  to-day." 

"There  it  is,  Enrico,  you  at  last  must  torment  me  ; 
it  is  not  enough  to  be  bored  to  death  by  others,  to  lis- 
ten to  my  husband's  folly,  but  you,  my  friond,  who  at 
least  might  have  some  consideration,  you  are  like  all 

the  rest."  . 

"  It  is  beoauso  I  have  the  greatest  consideration  for 
you,  Elena,  that  I  ask  this  favor.  You  know  1  Iovq 
you,  that  I  am  heart  and  soul  your  friend,  aud  that  I 
have  no  selfish  interest  in  the  matter." 

«  Explain  your  reason  for  this  singular  request." 
"I  do  not  wish  you  to  drive  with  do  Beaumont  to- 
day, because  if  you  do  it  will  provoke  an  open  quarrel 
between  him  and  the  Duke  of  Castellara,  and  your 
husband's  jealousy  will  be  the  cause  of  it." 

«  Thank  Heaven  if  he  is  jealous  at  last.  I  have  done 
all.  I  could  to  make  him  so,  aud  I  sincerely  hope  he 
will  suffer  the  tortures  of  the  damned." 


SUim 


120 


irSA  AND   THE  DU    'rffSS. 


* 


I 


i!     I! 


i: 


"  Oil,  Elena  1  I  pmy  you  not  to  bo  so  bitter.  It  is 
not  only  your  liusbmul  you  nro  iiijurinf?,  hut  it  is  your- 
self au«l  all  who  h.vo  you.  1  entreat  you  fur  my  sake, 
if  you  value  my  frioiidrtliip,  not  to  go  to  the  Ca8(;iiio 
today  in  company  with  the  Duko  do  lU'auiiiont." 

"  I  have  Bworn  to  Cafltcllam  that  I  would  drive  with 
do  Ik'aumont.  I  have  deliod  him,  and  1  i-annot  ehaniro 
my  dotcrmination  now.  If  I  do,  ho  will  think  I  havo 
yielded  to  his  roqueat,  and  I  woidd  rather  suffor  any 
torture,  any  disgrace,  thaii  to  allow  him  tosupposo  that 
ho  has  the  slightest  influence  over  me." 

"Then  you  will  not  listen  to  mo,  Elona?"  returned 
Eurico,  sadly.  "  And  I,  your  host  friend,  have  no  in- 
fluenco  with  you  either." 

The  Duchess  remained  silent  a  moment,  her  proud 
face  as  inscrutable  as  a  sphinx,  while  Enrico  watched 
anxiously,  to  see  if  he  could  discover  any  signs  of  re- 
lenting. 

At  length,  she  said  firmly,  "It  is  no  use,  Enrico  ;  as 
much  as  I  love  you  and  value  your  interest  in  mo,  I 
cannot  refuse  to  drive  with  do  Beaumont  to-day.  I 
shall  drive  with  him  as  I  said  I  would,  but  there  will 
be  no  trouble ;  rest  assured  there  will  be  no  (piarrel  at 
the  Casciue,  or  no  cause  for  it.  You  can  trust  me  to 
keep  my  promise  to  you." 

"  Ah  !  thank  you,  cousin.  Now  I  ani  happier,  for  you 
have  removed  a  heavy  burden  from  my  heart.    I  un- 


Dir   'TESS. 

i  to  bo  80  bitter.  It  i'b 
iiijiiriiij;,  hilt  it  is  yoiir- 
iitrout  }ou  for  my  Biiko, 
it  to  go  to  tho  Cii8(;iiio 
ko  do  IK'iiiiiiiont." 
hut  I  wuulil  drivo  with 
in,  und  I  cannot  chiuigo 
u,  ho  will  think  I  havo 
'oiild  rather  Buffer  nny 
(>w  him  toBiipposo  that 
or  mo." 

mo,  Elena  ? "  returned 
best  friend,  have  no  in- 

;  a  moment,  her  prond 

while  Enrico  watched 

iscover  any  signs  of  re- 

t  is  no  nso,  Enrico ;  aa 
your  interest  in  mo,  I 

Beaumont  to-day.  I 
[  would,  but  there  will 
•0  will  be  no  quarrel  at 

You  can  trust  me  to 

V  I  ani  happier,  for  you 
from  my  heart.    I  un- 


LI8A  AND  THE  DUGIIE38. 


M 


dor«t.uul  CaHtellani's  implacable  nature  so  well,  and  I 
K„„w  that  when  ho  ha»  on.-e  de.-ided  upon  any  course 
..f  action  ho  will  never  abandon  his  intention,  lo-day 
ho  has  determined  to  prevent  your  being  seen  m  the 
CiiHcino  with  do  Beaumont. 

"That   is  enouKb,  Enrico;  now  let  us  dismiss  tin. 
hateful  subject,"  said  the  Duchess  with  rising  color  and 

Uftrthing  eyes.  ,  .    ,  .  , 

At  that  moment  a  footman  announced  his  lughnes. 

the  Duke  do  Beaumont. 

An  hour  after  tho  elegant  equipage  of  tho  Dnchesa 
BtcKKl  waiting  for  her  in  tho  court  of  tho  palace,  and  a 
footman  in  blue  and  white  livery  held  the  door  open 
as  she  descended  the  broad  .narblo  staii-s,  leanmg  on 
the  arm  of  the  young  Duke  de  Beaumont.     Whe..  she 
was  seated  in  her  luxurious  carriage,  with  de  Beau- 
mont by  her  side,  and  tho  servant  waited  in  respectful 
silence  to  receive  her  order,  he  was  surprised  to  hear 
her  say :    «  Drive  to  San  Miniato  al  Monte,"  instead  of 
her  usual  direction,  "To  the  Cascine." 

A  moment  after  tho  Duchess  had  given  her  instruc- 
tions to  the  footman,  and  before  the  sound  of  her  retreat- 
in.  wlleels  had  ceased  to  reverberate  in  the  court,  the 
Duke  of  Castellara  appeared  with  pale  face,  com- 
pressed lips,  and  dogged  determination  in  his  glittermg 
Lb.  Hastily  steppl.ig  into  a  small  close  carnage  that 
drew  up  to  the  grand  entmnce  in  obedience  to  an  im- 


128 


LISA  AND  THE  DXTGHESS. 


perative  wave  of  his  hand,  he  said,  in  a  4iard,  husky 
voice :  "  To  the  Cascine,  as  quickly  as  possible." 

During  the  drive  the  Duchess  was  silent  and  ab- 
sorbed, and  her  companion  tried  in  vain  to  arouse  her 
from  her  abstraction.  When  at  last  they  drew  up 
before  the  church  of  San  Miniato,  and  the  Duchess 
leaving  her  carriage,  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  terrace 
looking  back  at  the  city  below  her,  her  face  softened 
and  a  long-drawn  weary  sigh  fell  on  the  ear  of  de 
Beaumont.  - 

"  Why  are  you  so  triste  to-day,  Duchess  ? "  lie  asked 
as  they  entered  the  silent,  sombre  church,  "  and  why 
have  you,  instead  of  the  bright  sunny  Cascine,  chosen 
to  visit  this  gloomy  spot  with  its  tombs  and  shadows  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  in  the  mood  for  tombs  and  shadows. 
I  like  a  change.  I  hate  sunlight,  music,  and  laughter, 
always,  and  pi-efer,  for  variety,  darkness  and  silence, 
but  if  you  find  it  unbearable  you  can  be  driven  to  the 
Cascine,  and  I  will  remain  here  until  my  carriage 
returns."  = 

"  Now,  Duchess,  you  are  cruel ;  you  know  that  every 
place  where  you  are  is  beautiful  to  me ;  your  smile,  the 
light  of  your  heavenly  eyes  make  sunshine  to  me  in 
the  dreariest  spot." 

"  That  will  do,  Duke,  let  this  flattery  and  pretty 
speech-making  be  enough  for  to-day.  I  am  not  in- 
clined to  hear  it.    I  told  you  I  was  gloomy  and  preoc- 


OTTCRESS. 

said,  in  a  4iai'd,  husky 
Idy  as  possible." 
388  was  silent  and  ab- 
[  in  vain  to  arouse  her 
at  last  they  drew  up 
iato,  and  the  Duchess 
moment  on  tlie  terrace 
her,  her  face  softened 
:ell  on  the   ear  of  de 

',  Duchess  ? "  lie  asked 
lire  church,  "  and  why 
sunny  Cascine,  chosen 
tombs  and  shadows  ? " 
or  tombs  and  shadows. 
i,  music,  and  laughter, 
dfivkness  and  silence, 
u  can  be  driven  to  the 
re  until  my  carriage 

I ;  you  know  that  every 
to  me ;  your  smile,  the 
ke  sunshine  to  me  in 

8  flattery  and  pretty 
to-day.  I  am  not  in- 
va,R  gloomy  and  preoc- 


LI8A  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


129 


cupied,  therefore  it  will  please  me  better  to  listen  to 

.miver  things." 
"Well,  what  shall  wo  discuss?  religion,  politics,  or 

love?"  -,    ■ 

"  Either  of  the  former;  the  latter  I  detest,  as  I  have 

told  you  a  thousand  times." 

«  Ah!  Duchess, you  are  most  cruel.  I  am  in  tortures, 
one  moment,  daring  to  hope,  the  next,  cast  down  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  despair." 

"Due  de  Beaumont,  is  it  necessary  for  me  to  re- 
peat again  what  I  have  so  often  said  ?  "  —  ;  ' 
.  "  No,  no,  your  highness ;  spare  me,  and  I  will  be 
silent,  for  I  cannot  endure  your  scorn." 

"Then  never  speak  to  me  of  love.  I  am  unac- 
quainted with  such  an  emotion.  I  know  of  no  other 
desires  than  those  of  pride  and  ambition." 

"You  wrong  yourself.  Duchess;  a  sweeter,  nobler 
heart  never  beat  in  a  woman's  breast." 

«  You  are  mistaken,  my  friend,  I  have  no  heart.  1 
Bometiines  have  impulses,  and  they  are  rarely  good  and 

unselfish."  ^   i   c  «, 

«  Ah!  What  is  this?"  cried  de  Beaumont,  before 
the  Duchess  had  finished  her  sentence.  «  As  I  live,  a 
child  asleep  here  on  the  steps  of  the  altar." 

"  And  how  lovely,"  said  the  Duchess,  bending  over  her 
and  strokingsoftly  with  trembling  fingers  the  masses  of 
golden  hair  that  lay  in  disorder  around  her  rosy  face. 
&  6* 


/ 


180 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


m  t 


W    I 


1!  i 


"  And  she  seems  to  be  quite  alone,"  said  de  Beau- 
mont looking  at  her  admiringly. 

"I  wonder  how  she  came  here?  "and  the  Dnchess 
stooped  still  lower  to  hide  the  tears  that  lillcd  her  eyes. 
"  Lovely  innocent,  sleeping  here  at  the  foot  of  the  altar 
among  these  gloomy  tombs  as  sweetly  as  though  she 
were  resting  on  a  bed  of  flowers  under  some  shady 
tree."  ■  <■  v.-V/ 

At  that  moment  the  child  opened  her  beautiful  eyes, 
and  without  manifesting  any  astonishment,  smiled  in 
the  sweet  face  bending  over  her,  and  said,  as  she 
raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  "  I  was  dreaming  of  angels, 
and  I  thought  you  were  one." 

Then  seeing  the  Duke  de  Beaumont,  she  blushed 
timidly  and  looked  down. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from,  sweet  child  ? "  asked 
the  Duchess  sitting  on  the  altar  steps  by  her  side  and 
twisting  the  rings  of  her  soft  hair  around  her  own  deli- 
cately gloved  linger. 

"  I  live  near,  in  the  little  cottage  under  the  cypress 
trees,  and  I  come  here  every  day." 

"  What  is  your  name  ? " 

"  Fiordilisa,  Signora,  but  papa  calls  me  Lisa,  because 
it  fs  shorter." 

"  A  pretty  name,  and  it  suits  you  well,"  returned 
the  Duchess  looking  at  her  tenderly,  "  for  you  are  as 
fair  as  a  lily  and  as  graceful." 


DUCHESS. 
alone,"  said  de  Beau- 

!re?"and  the  Duchess 

jars  that  lillcd  her  eyes. 

at  the  foot  of  the  altar 

sweetly  as  though  she 

ers  under  some  shady 

sned  her  beautiful  eyes, 

stonishinent,  smiled  in 

her,  and   said,  as  she 

vas  dreaming  of  angels, 

Beaumont,  she  blushed 

(1,  sweet  child  ? "  asked 

steps  by  her  side  and 

lir  around  her  own  deli- 

tage  under  the  cypress 


I  calls  me  Lisa,  because 

ts  you  well,"  returned 
derly,  "  for  you  are  as 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


w^*'- 


«  Have  you  never  seen  this  face  before.  Duchess  \ » 
asked  de  Beaumont  after  he  had  gazed  at  the  child 

steadily.  /       '.,       _ 

"Kever,  that  I  am  aware  of,  and  yet  it  strikes  me 

familiarly.''  .  ";. 

•  «l8  it  not  like  the  face  of  that  exquisite  statuette 
you  purchased  the  other  day  on  the  Ponte  Vecchiol" 
« Yes,  now  you  speak  of  it  I  discover  the  resem- 
blance, but,  I  presume  it  is  only  accidental." 

"Probably,  but  it  is  like  a  copy  of  this  face,    re- 

turned  the  Duke. 

While  this  convei-sation  was  going  on  between  the 
Duchess  and  de  Beaumont,  the  child  studied,  with  wide 
open  eyes,  the  face  of  the  lady. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  so,  my  child?"  asked  the 
Dnchess  drawing  her  to  her  side. 

"Because  it  seems  to  me  that  you  must  be  the 
Angel  of  the  Church,"  the  one  papa  always  speaks  of 
He  has  her  image  near  the  ci-ucifix,  and  he  tells  me  I 
must  love  it  next  to  the  Virgin." 

"The  An<rel  of  the  Church,"  repeated  the  Duchess 
Blowly  and  with  a  far-away  look.  "I  have  heard 
that  expression  before,  and  it  awakes  some  strange 
memory;  but  it  is  nothing  only  a  memory.  No,  my 
sweet  child,  I  am  no  angel,  I  am  but  a  poor  unhappy 

woman."  _      .,,    ,„ 

« The  child  is  right,"  said  de  Beaumont  with  an 


r 


•'32 


1-    ij 


LISA  AND  THE  DUCHESS. 


adnoiring  glance.  "  She  discovers  in  you  what  yon  will 
not  allow  others  to  see." 

"  Have  you  no  mamma,  Lisa  ? "  asked  the  Duchess 
without  noticing  the  Duke's  remark,  "  that  you  speak 
of  your  papa  only  ?  " 

"  Ah  I  no,  Signora,  my  mamma  is  dead,  she  died 
when  I  was  a  baby."  » 

"  And  you  live  alone  with  your  papa?" 

"  No,  not  now,  for  Signora  Pia  has  come  to  live  with 
us,  and  she  will  stay  with  us  always.  She  is  very  good, 
and  I  love  her  dearly." 

"  And  so  you  come  here  often,  do  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  Signora,  I  come  every  day  to  this  altar  to  say 
my  prayers,  and  sometimes  when  I  am  tired  I  go  to 
sleep,  and  then  the  Blessed  Virgin  takes  care  of  me." 

"  Sweet  innocent,  will  you  pray  for  me  sometimes  ? 
for  I  need  the  prayei-s  of  such  as  you.  Now  addio, 
and  do  not  forget  me,  and  I  will  come  again  some  day 
to  see  you.  Here,  take  this  and  keep  it  always,"  and 
unfastening  a  rosary  of  exquisite  workmanship  from 
her  belt  she  threw  it  around  the  child's  neck,  and  then 
stooping,  pressed  a  kiss  on  her  white  forehead,  where 
she  left  more  than  one  tear — such  tears  as  did  not  often 
fall  from  the  proud  eyes  of  the  Duchess  of  Castellara. 

When  Lisa,  flushed  and  delighted,  rushed  into  her 

.  father's  presence  and  told  him  of  the  beautiful  lady 

she  had  seen  in  the  church,  and  showed  him  the  rosary 


men  ESS. 

s  in  you  what  yon  will 

?"  asked  the  Duchess 
mark,  "  that  you  speak 

ma  is  dead,  she  died 

irpapa?" 

a  has  come  to  live  with 

ays.    She  is  very  good, 

,  do  you  ? " 

day  to  this  altar  to  say 
n  I  am  tired  I  go  to 
gin  takes  care  of  me." 
■ay  for  me  sometimes  1 
as  you.  Now  addio, 
1  come  again  some  day 
I  keep  it  always,"  and 
te  workmanship  from 
child's  neck,  and  then 
white  forehead,  where 
li  tears  as  did  not  often 
Duchess  of  Castellara. 
hted,  rushed  into  her 
of  the  beautiful  lady 
ihowed  him  the  rosary 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


133 


she  had  given  her,  Kugo  looked '  grave,  and  said,  more 
severely  than  he  had  ever  spoken  to  her: 

«  You  did  wrong,  my  child  to  talk  to  a  stranger  and 
accept  a  gift.  Never  do  it  again,  unless  you  wish  to 
displease  me ;  and  never  go  again  to  the  church  with- 
out Signora  Pia." 

«  But  I  may  wear  the  rosary  ? "  asked  Lisa,  caressing 
it  fondly,  "  and  I  may  pray  for  the  sweet  lady,  may  I 

not  papa? " 

«  Yes,  my  child,"  replied  Hugo ;  «  but  remember  in 
the  future  that  you  are  never  to  talk  with  strangers." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  8TA.TUE  OF  AUBOEA. 


IT  is  a  rare  work,  a  wonderful  work.    I  have 
seen  nothing  equal  to  it  produced  by  modern 
genius.    It  has  all  the  grace,  purity,  and  dig- 
nity of  the  antique,  combined  with  the  careful  study, 
plastic  movement,  and  dainty  detail  of  the  best  school." 
"Who  is  Hugo?" 

«  Do  any  of  you  gentlemen  know  the  artist  who  seems 
so  suddenly  to  have  sprung  into  notice?  On  the  base 
of  the  statue  I  see  the  simple  name  '  Hugo.'    Who  is 


134 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


m 


Huo'o?     I  Bhoiild  like  to  know,  for  if  this  exquisite 
figure  is  for  sale  I  will  purchase  it." 

"  I  think  I  can  give  you  the  information  you  desire, 
Signore,"  replied  a  pale  little  man,  with  large  eyes, 
hungry  expression,  and  shabby  dress,  which  denoted 
tliat  he  belonged  to  tlie  great  army  of  martyrs  whose 
labors,  self-denial,  and  patient  suffering  are  never  re- 
warded, appreciated,  or   understood.     "He   is  called 
Huiro  and  has  no  other  name  that  1  ever  heard  of  ;  he 
is  a  hunchback,  and  he  now  lives  in  the  Via  di  San 
Gallo  near  the  gate,  though  until  recently  he  dwelt  in 
a  little  cottage  on  San  Miniato  with  his  only  child  a 
beautiful  girl,  who  has  always  borne  the  title  of  the 
Lily  of  San  Miniato.     She  is  now  about  sixteen,  and  is 
as  fair  and  graceful  as  the  flower  she  is  named  for. 
But  you  can  judge  of  her  beauty  for  she  was  the  model 
for  this  work,  as  she  is  for  everything  he  does." 

"  What  !  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  this  exquisite 
figure  is  modelled  after  his  own  daughter,  and  that  she 
is  as  lovely  as  this  divine  creation  ?  " 

"She  is  of  the  most  remarkable  beauty,  Signore, 
and  I  am  told  that  she  is  as  gentle  and  virtuous  as  she 
is  beautiful,  and  that  he  has  never  employed  any  other 
model,  but  has  always  worked  from  her,  and  he  has 
produced  the  most  wonderful  studies  of  children  in 
every  pose  you  can  imagine — sleeping  and  waking, 
merry  and  sad,  human  and  angelic.    These  dainty 


AURORA. 

V,  for  if  this  exquisite 

3  it." 

information  you  desire, 

man,  witli  lai-ge  eyes, 
■  dress,  wliicli  denoted 
army  of  martyrs  whose 
suffering  are  never  re- 
•stood.     "He   is  called 
hat  1  ever  heard  of  ;  he 
ves  in  the  Via  di  San 
til  recently  he  dwelt  in 
o  with  his  only  child  a 
i  borne  tlie  title  of  the 
ow  about  sixteen,  and  is 
)wer  she  is  named  for. 
ty  for  she  was  the  model 
■y thing  he  does." 
0  say  that  this  exquisite 
II  daughter,  and  that  she 
ion  ? » 

rkable  beauty,  Signore, 
ntle  and  virtuous  as  she 
jver  employed  any  otlier 
d  from  her,  and  he  has 
[  studies  of  children  in 
—sleeping  and  waking, 

angelic.    These  dainty 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


135 


fitrures  arc  sold  in  every  shop  in  Florence,  and  the  de- 
i.iand  for  tliem  has  been  so  great  that  he  has  amassed 
quite  a  snug  fortune,  for  they  say  he  adores  the  lovely 
Lisa,  and  is  a  miser,  that  he  may  lay  aside  a  handsome 
dower  for  her." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  this  prodigy  of  beauty,  this 
fair  flower  that  he  prizes  so  highly  ?  " 

"  Only  once,  Signore." 

"  And  how  did  it  happen  that  yon  were  so  favored  1 " 

«I  chanced  to  see  her  in  the  Torrigiani  gardens  with 

her  father." 

"  And  does  rumor  exaggerate  her  charms  1 " 
"No,  indeed,  Signore ;  she  is  lovely  beyond  all  com- 
parison." 

"  How  can  one  get  a  glimpse  of  this  divinity  ? " 
«  I  cannot  tell  you,  for  the  hunchback,  in  spite  of  his 
genius,  is  a  strange  character— a  proud,  reticent  man, 
who  has  no  associates,  and  who  lives  in  the  strictest  se- 
clusion, guarding  his  treasure  with  all  the  careful  vigi- 
lance of  Cerberus." 

« 1  am  interested  in  this  artist,  and  also  in  his  lovely 
model,  and  am  determined  to  make  their  acquain- 
tance." 

«  I  am  afraid  that  will  not  be  easy,  Signore." 
"  I  wonder  if  a  commission  for  a  statue  would  ad- 
mit me  into  his  confidence  ?  " 

"  Doubtless  it  would,  for  I  have  been  told  that  hia 


186 


Tim  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


only  vulnerable  jwint  is  his  love  of  money.  lie  has  the 
greatest  ambition  to  be  rich,  and  apart  from  that  desire, 
and  his  aifectiun  for  his  daughter,  he  has  no  other  in- 
terest in  life." 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  met  him  and  spoken  with  him  a  few  times, 
but  I  have  never  been  to  his  studio  ;  in  fact,  he  has 
never  invited  me — he  is  very  distant,  and  avoids  all 
communication  with  his  brother  artists,  especially  those 
who  are  fortunate,  rich,  and  popular.  I  am  not  of  that 
happy  number,  therefore  he  treats  me  with  some  little 
consideration." 

"  A  disagreeable,  conceited  fellow  I  should  say  ? " 

"No,  Signore,  hardly  that;  he  seems  very  gentle, 
and  at  times  almost  humble,  and  will  talk  pleasantly 
on  any  subject  beside  his  own  affairs ;  but  if  one  dares 
to  approach  him  with  the  least  familiarity  or  intimacy, 
he  immediately  becomes  haughty,  reserved,  and  silent." 

"  It  would  require  some  tact,  then,  to  get  admitted  to 
his  distinguished  presence  ? " 

"Yes,  Signore,  I  think  it  would,  for  he  aeems  to 
avoid  and  dislike  strangers." 

"  Do  you  suppose  it  would  be  possible  for  yon  to 
arrange  a  meeting  between  him  and  me,  so  that  I  may 
make  my  proposals  in  regard  to  an  order  for  a 
statue?" 

"  I  will  try,  Signore,  and  if  you  are  luoky  enough  to 


^immmmmmmmmiiii^^'' 


?  AURORA. 

e  of  money.  IIo  has  the 
id  apart  from  that  desire, 
iter,  he  has  no  otlier  in- 

liim  ? " 

jn  with  him  a  few  times, 
studio  ;  in  fact,  he  has 
y  distant,  and  avoids  all 
3r  artists,  especially  those 
pnlar.  I  am  not  of  that 
reats  me  with  some  little 

fellow  I  should  say  ? " 
;  he  seems  very  gentle, 
and  will  talk  pleasantly 
affairs ;  but  if  one  dares 
t  familiarity  or  intimacy, 
ity,  reserved,  and  silent." 
,  then,  to  get  admitted  to 

would,  for  he  seems  to 

I  be  possible  for  yon  to 
m  and  me,  so  that  I  may 
ird  to  an  order  for   a 

you  are  luoky  enough  to 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA.] 


187 


gain  admission  to  his  house,  yon  will  bo  the  fli-st  one 
who  ever  has;  for,  although  nearly  every  artist  in 
Florence  has  plotted  and  planned  to  obtain  a  glimpse 
of  this  lovely  model,  they  have  been  fyiled  in  every 
attempt,  and  I,  alone,  am  the  only  happy  one  among 
them  ;  but  my  good  fortune  in  that  respect  is  owing 
to  my  misfortune  in  other  things,  for  I  am  so  ugly  and 
poor,  that  there  is  no  danger  for  her  in  an  encounter 
with  me,  so,  when  I  met  them  accidentally  in  a  se- 
cluded part  of  the  garden,  the  hunchback  did  not  run 
away  like  a  timid  hare,  and  the  lovely  Lisa  did  not 
draw  her  thick  veil  over  her  face  until  I  had  feasted 
my  eyes  for  a  moment  on  her  charms." 

"  Lucky  mortal,  1  wish  I  had  been  in  your  place." 
"  If  you  had,  you  would  not  have  met  with  my  good 
fortune,  a  handsome  young  noble  like  you  would  have 
alarmed  the  poor  man  to  such  an  extent  that  ho  would 
have  enveloped  his  fair  lily  in  a  twinkling,  and  hur- 
ried her  away  before  you  had  a  chance  to  get  the  first 
glimpse  of  her  beauty." 

"  It  might  have  been  so,  but  still  I  should  like  to  try 
the  experiment.  Now,  tell  me,  do  they  visit  the  gar- 
den often,  and  do  they  usually  resort  to  tlie  same  se- 
cluded spot  ? " 

"  As  to  their  visiting  the  garden,  Signore,  I  cannot 
say  wliether  they  are  there  often  or  not,  for  I  have 
never  seen  them  but  once ;  but  doubtless  when  they 


138 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


do  go,  thoy  Bcck  tho  most  rotirod  placo,  whoro  thoy 
will  ho  freest  from  observation." 

"  And  where  is  that  placo?  " 

"  In  tho  northoivst  corner,  nndor  an  acacia  tree,  near 
tho  mined  statue  of  Fauna." 

"  At  what  hour  did  you  meet  them  there  i  " 

"  Near  yly^  ;1/'t/""'^" 

"  Well,  I  will  try  my  Inck  to-morrow,  and  if  I  ad- 
mire this  goddess  of  beauty  as  much  as  Idohor  marblo 
image,  I  will  report  to  yon,  and  you  must  try  to  ar- 
range an  introduction  to  Cerberus." 

"  Bene,  Signore,  a  7'ivedeiv" 

Tho  above  dialogue  was  conducted  near  a  statne  of 
Aurora,  exhibited  in  tho  Academia  delle  Belle  Arti, 
at  Florence,  during  the  season  of  1839.  And  tho  two 
persons  engaged  in  the  conversation  were  tho  Russian 
Count  Valdimer  Nordiskoff,  a  rich  patron  of  art,  as 
well  as  an  amateur  of  no  mea»\  merit,  and  a  p<x)r  copy- 
ist in  the  Oalleria,  who  had  volunteered  the  informa- 
tion respecting  the  unknown  sculptor,  as  he  stood 
among  a  group  of  artists  around  the  wonderful  work 
that  excited  their  most  ardent  admiration. 

The  sun  was  slowly  slipping  down  behind  the  dusky 
acacia  trees  near  tho  fountain  and  the  statue  of  Fauna 
in  the  Torrigiani  gardens,  as  a  handsome,  distinguished 
looking  man,  with  light  curly  hair  and  pleasant  brown 
eyes,  sauntered  carelessly  toward  the  secluded  spot, 


'  AURORA. 

irod  placo,  wlioro  thoy 

dor  an  acacia  tree,  near 
t  them  thoro  1 " 

o-morrow,  and  if  I  ad- 
iniich  as  I  do  hor  inarblo 
lid  you  must  try  to  ar- 

irus." 

iducted  near  a  statue  of 
lemia  delle  Belle  Arti, 
of  1839.  And  the  two 
nation  were  the  Ilustjian 
I  rich  patron  of  art,  as 

I  merit,  and  a  p<x)r  copy- 
ihmteered  tlio  informa- 

II  sculptor,  as  he  stood 
nd  the  wonderful  work 

admiration. 

;down  behind  the  dusky 
and  the  statue  of  Fauna 

handsome,  distinguislied 
hair  and  pleasant  brown 
rard  the  secluded  spot, 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


130 


where  the  marble  goddess  8too<l,  white  and  graceful, 
against  the  background  of  laurel  and  rose  that  twined 
toi'othcr  in  h)viiitj  embrace  around  the  gnarled  trunk 
ul'  iin  ancient  ilex  ;  as  he  went  on  humming  a  gay  air, 
and  switching  lightly  the  grass  and  llowers  with  the 
cane  he  carried  in  his  well-gloved  hand,  he  glanced  in 
eager  scrutiny  from  side  to  side  as  if  in  search  of 
Hoinething  lie  longed  to  find. 

llo  was  Count  Valdimor  Nordiskoff,  the  rich  young 
Russian,  wlio  had  passed  a  number  of  winters  in  Flor- 
ence, and  who  lived  in  one  of  tlio  most  elegant  palaces 
on  the  Lung  'Arno,  who  drove  the  finest  horses  in  tlio 
Cascine,  who  owned  the  handsomest  yacht  that  had 
ever  sailed  in  Italian  watere,  and  who  had  one  of  the 
most  charming  villas  on  Lake  Como,  where  he  enter- 
tained, during  the  summer,  tho  fashionable,  wealthy, and 
beautiful  of  the  fair  city  of  flowers. 

Although  he  was  adored  by  all  the  distinguished 
belles  and  flattered  by  their  manoeuvering  mammas,  he 
still  remained  uncatight  in  the  matrinu)nial  net,  and  it 
was  generally  conceded  that  it  was  useless  to  fish  for 
him,  since  he  was  the  devoted  cavaliere  servante  of  tho 
Duchess  of  Castellara,  who,  in  spite  of  her  thirty-six 
yeai-8,  still  remained  the  most  beautiful  and  the  most 
fascinating  woman  in  Florence. 

As  Count  Valdimer  sauntered  along,  looking  care- 
lessly to  the  right  and  left,  his  miud  was  occupied 


I  ill 


1'^ 

'II' 

.  .1 


140 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


with  Boino  Biich  thoiiglitB  ns  these :  "  I  wonder  what 
the  Duchess  would  say  if  she  know  of  this  advonturo  ? 
She  thinks  I  adoro  the  vcr}-  ground  she  walks  on,  and 
60  I  did  once,  but  1  am  getting  over  siudi  folly.  I  am 
weary  of  her  platonie  affection.  I  am  weary  of  devot- 
ing myself  to  a  woman  who  has  so  little  heart.  It  is 
true  she  is  beautiful  and  poasesses  a  strange  power,  but 
she  is  destitute  of  all  tenderness,  all  passion.  What 
she  calls  love— the  noblest,  the  moat  eacred  of  love— 
I  sometimes  think  is  mere  eahnilation,  soltishness,  and 
vanitv.  If  she  loved  me,  she  would  not  endure  for 
one  day  the  bondage  of  her  lot  as  Castellara's  wife.  She 
would  Hy  with  me  from  this  city,  whore  she  Is  so 
wretched,  and  seek  another  and  a  happier  life,  con- 
tented with  my  love  and  devotion. 

"  I  know  she  hates  her  hnsband  with  nnnttcrablo  hate, 
atid  I  think  she  loves  me  as  much  as  she  is  capable  of 
loving  any  one ;  and  if  she  were  free  to-day  she  would 
gladly  become  my  wife.  If  she  were  free  ?  Well,  would 
I  be  as  ready,  as  I  have  thought  I  would  a  thousand 
times,  to  offer  her  my  hand  and  name  1  Ah !  it  is  weary 
waiting  ;  for  four  years  now  I  have  lived  on  her  smile, 
her  favor.  I  have  endured  all  the  strange  caprices  of 
her  nature— her  tcai-s,  her  sadness,  her  scorn,  at  times ;  I 
have  studied  her  day  by  day,  and  yet  I  know  not  if 
she  loves  me,  I  know  not  if  she  has  a  heart  or  whether 
she  is  but  the  vain,  cruel  coquette  the  world  calls  her. 


f  AunonA. 

these :  •'  I  wonder  wlmt 
jiiow  of  this  ftdvonturc  ? 
oiind  she  walks  on,  and 
f  over  smth  folly.  I  am 
I.  I  am  wen,ry  of  dovot- 
las  BO  little  heart.  It  is 
?fiC8  a  strange  power,  but 
nc38,  all  passion.     What 

10  moat  eacred  of  love — 
(julation,  sellishnoss,  and 
B  would  not  endure  f<»r 
asCastellara'swife.  She 
is  city,  where  she  is  so 
find  a  happier  life,  con- 
tion. 

,nd  with  unutterable  hate, 
nuch  as  she  is  capable  of 
5re  free  to-day  she  would 
e  were  free  ?  Well,  would 
nght  I  would  a  thousand 
inamel  Ah  lit  is  weary 
t  have  lived  on  her  smile, 

11  the  strange  caprices  of 
less,  her  scorn,  at  times ;  I 
r,  and  yet  I  know  not  if 
lie  has  a  heart  or  whether 
3tte  the  world  calls  her. 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


141 


"  However,  it  must  cud  ;  I  cannot  endure  this  life  any 
longer,  (/"astollara  is  jealous  to  dosjicration,  and  it  is 
only  his  fear  of  \m  wife  that  prevents  a  terril)le  catas- 
ti-oplio.  Desido,  my  love  and  friendship  for  Enrico  is 
another  motive  to  save  his  cousin  from  disiionor.  Her 
name  is  connected  with  mine  as  no  honest  woman's 
should  be,  and  any  rash  act  of  the  Duko  would  ruin  her 
irretrievably.  I  am  sick  of  fa8hionai>lo  intrigue,  and 
the  lovely  face  of  that  exquisite  statue  I  saw  yesterday 
haunts  me  with  its  serene  tenderness.  If  the  original 
is  as  fair  and  I  can  win  her  love,  I  will  try,  and  I  will 
be  honest  in  my  affection,  if  she  is  worthy  of  it." 

On  a  stone  bench  under  a  cluster  of  granita,  flaming 
with  its  blossoms  of  vivid  rod,  sat  two  figures — a  sallow, 
sad-faced,  deformed  man,  dressed  in  dark  clothes,  plain, 
but  exquisitely  neat,  and  by  his  side  a  young  girl  of 
such  dazzling  beauty  that  the  unfortunate  creature  by 
her  side  seemed  in  comparison  a  monstrous  ogre. 

Her  skin  was  delicately  white  and  soft,  her  eyes 
were  of  violet  blue,  shaded  with  long,  dark  lashes, 
while  her  hair  fell  like  dusky  gold  under  the  thick 
white  veil  thrown  back  from  the  low,  broad  forehead, 
which  was  pureljfc classic  in  its  contour,  uniting  with 
the  nose  in  the  perfect  Greek  line  that  continued  to 
the  tenderly  curved  upper  lip  and  short,  oval  chin. 

Her  head  was  slightly  bent  above  au  open  book  that 


142 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


lay  in  her  lap,  and  liei-  slender  rosy  lingers  turned 
from  time  to  time  the  pages  which  she  was  reading 
aloud  to  her  conii)anion,  who  listened  with  the  closest 
attention,  devouring  her  face  all  the  time  with  his 
melancholy  eyes  that  still  had  the  same  wistful,  appeal- 
ing expression  of  one  whose  heart  longs  for  tenderness 
and  affection.  There  was  something  touching  in  the 
almost  humble  devotion  and  attention  with  which  he 
listened  to  the  words  of  the  gentle  reader. 

Her  dress  of  dark  cloth  and  of  the  most  simple  de- 
sign, fell  in  graceful  folds  from  her  shoulders  to  her 
feet,  faintly  outlining  her  slender  young  figure;  a 
white  scarf  folded  modestly  over  her  shoulders  formed 
a  veil  for  her  head,  from  which  escaped  the  yellow 
fringes  of  her  hair,  touching  with  light  and  color  her 
sombre  attire,  and  producing  the  same  effect  that  the 
old  painters  loved  when  they  embroidered  with  golden 
threads  the  purple  robes  of  their  saints. 

Close  in  the  shadow  of  the  Fauna,  Valdimer  Nordis- 
koff  caressed  the  face  of  the  young  girl  with  his  ardent 
gaze,  his  admiration  beaming  in  his  eyes,  which  studied 
every  outline  and  tint  with  the  passionate  appreciation 
of  the  artist  and  the  lover.  And  the  silence  was  only 
broken  by  the  clear  evening  song  of  the  birds  and  the 
low  sweet  voice  of  the  girl  as  she  read  the  romance 
of  another  life,  little  dreaming  how  near  she  was  to 
the  first  page  of  her  own. 


W  AURORA. 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


143 


der  rosy  lingers  turned 
}  which  she  was  reading 
listened  witli  the  closest 
5  all  the  time  with  his 
the  same  wistful,  appeal- 
leart  longs  for  tenderness 
iiething  touching  in  the 
attention  with  which  he 
entle  reader. 

1  of  the  most  simple  de- 
rom  her  shoulders  to  her 
lender  young  figure;  a 
ver  her  shoulders  formed 
Inch  escaped  the  yellow 
with  light  and  color  her 
the  same  effect  that  the 
embroidered  with  golden 
leir  saints. 

Fauna,  Valdimer  Nordis- 
jfoung  girl  with  his  ardent 
in  his  eyes,  which  studied 
le  passionate  appreciation 
^nd  the  silence  was  only 
song  of  the  birds  and  the 
as  she  read  the  romance 
ing  how  near  she  was  to 


At  length  the  liunchback,  starting  from  his  listening 
attitude  and  gently  closing  the  book  with  one  hand, 
wliile  he  drew  the  scarf  closely  aronnd  her  with  the 
otlier,  said,  in  a  voice  as  tender  as  a  mother's,  "  Lisa, 
my  child,  the  sun  is  setting,  the  dews  are  falling,  and 
the  white  vapor  will  soon  hover  over  us  with  its  poison- 
ous breath.  It  is  not  healthy  here  at  this  hour.  Let 
us  go  before  the  sun  sets." 

"Oh!  papa,  must  we  go  so  soon?  I  like  this  hour 
so  much." 

"  Why  should  yen  l".ce  this  hour?  At  your  age  one 
likes  midday  and  sunshine  better  than  twilight  and 
sliadows." 

"  But  1  do  not  like  this  hour  always.  When  the  sun 
is  high,  I  like  to  go  into  the  gardens  and  see  all  the 
gay  people  in  their  carriages,  dressed  so  beautifully, 
and  looking  so  happy." 

"  Their  dress  is  But  vanity,  my  child,  and  their  looks 
are  deceitful ;  under  their  light  manners  and  gay 
smiles  they  carry  aching  hearts." 

"  Oh  I  papa,  why  do  you  think  so  when  they  do  not 
show  that  their  hearts  ache  ? " 

"  Because,  Lisa,  it  is  not  allowed  to  show  one's  real 
feelings  in  the  fashionable  woi4d." 

"  But  I  like  a  glimpse  of  that  world,  nevertheless. 
It  is  beautiful  on  the  outside,  and  it  pleases  me  ;  then 
why,  dear  papa,  do  you  never  allow  me  to  remain  a 


144  THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 

little  while  where  the  ci-owd  are  laughuig,  Binging,  and 

dancing?" 

«  Because  I  like  it  not." 

«  But  I  like  it,  dear,"  continued  Lisa,  with  sweet 
persistency,  while  she  caressed  the  long,  thin  hand  that 

lav  in  hers.  .  , 

« I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  you  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Buch  a  world,  and  it  should  have  »o  attractions  for  you. 

«  But  I  cannot  help  it-my  heart  is  light,  1  am 
young  and  happy,  and  Signora  Pia  says  i^t  is  nojiarm 
to  dance  and  sing  when  one  is  young  and  happy.  ^^ 

«  Signora  Pia  should  not  tell  you  such  things,  re- 
turned Ungo,  with  a  j..  .■  -  glance  and  rising  color; 
«  she  should  teach  yon  M^  i  ^  >  is  too  short  and  too 
serious  for  such  folly."  . 

'.  Oh !  papa,  pray  do  not  blame  Signora  Pia ;  she  is 
good,  and  teaches  me  everything  good ;  but  do  not  be 
displeased,  I  will  not  be  happy  if  yo«  do  not  wish  it. 

"Hush,  my  darling,  for  God's  sake;  you  hurt  ine 
.ith  such  word.  I  wish  you  to  be  Wpy'  ^^^^^f 
and  truly  happy,  but  not  after  the  fashion  of  the  false, 

wicked  world. '  '^ 

« But  a  little  pleasure  with  young  companions  a 
little  music  and  dancing  and  mirth,  is  not  the  false, 
wicked  world,  papa." 

»  Do  you  wish  mirth  and  dancing  and  young  com- 
j^nions,  my  child? "  asked  Hugo,  sadly. 


AURORA. 


THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 


145 


3  laughing,  singing,  and 


limed  Lisa,  with  sweet 
the  long,  thin  hand  that 

lave  nothing  to  do  with 
e  no  attractions  for  you." 
y  heart   is  light,  I  am 

I  Pia  says  it  is  no  harm 
young  and  happy." 

II  you  such  things,"  re- 
liance and  rising  color ; 
i:  3  is  too  short  and  too 

lame  Signora  Pia ;  she  is 
ling  good ;  but  do  not  be 
)y  if  you  do  not  w^ish  it." 
od's  sake;  you  hurt  me 
u  to  be  happy,  sincerely 
jr  the  fashion  of  the  false, 

rith  young  companions,  a 
d  mirth,  is  not  the  false, 

dancing  and  young  com- 
Engo,  sadly. 


"  Sometimes  I  do,"  returned  Lisa,  dropping  her  eyes 
and  sighing  lightly. 

A  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  the  huncliback's  pale 
fiico,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  he  said,  with 
infinite  tenderness,  "  My  Lisa,  you  had  no  such  long- 
iiijrg  when  we  were  in  the  little  cottage  on  San  Mini- 
ato." 

"  No,  papa." 

"  You  were  contented  then  with  your  poor  father, 
your  humble  home,  Nana  and  the  little  garden." 

"  Yes,  I  loved  it  all  dearly,  and  I  was  always  happy 
then." 

"  And  you  are  not  now  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  that.  I  am  always  happy  with'  yon, 
darling,"  said  Lisa,  pressing  her  face  against  his 
shoulder ;  "  but  then  I  had  not  seen  this  beautiful  city, 
the  gardens,  the  streets,  and  all  the  gay,  briglit  things." 

"  And  they  have  made  you  discontented  with  your 
humble  lot,  your  quiet  life,  your  books  and  the  dull 
society  of  Signora  Pia,  and  your  poor  fatlier?" 

"  No,  no,  dear  papa,  I  am  not  discontented,  and  I 
love  my  books  and  you  better  than  ever.  Am  I  not 
loath  to  leave  this  sweet  story  and  this  quiet  place  for 
the  gay  crowd  that  linger  yonder  ?  " 

"  But  we  must  go,  my  darling,  the  air  is  poison  in 

spite  of  the  beauty  of  the  hour.     I  too  love  to  linger 

here  and  listen.     Tommaso  Grossi  is  sweet  to  my  ear, 
7 


146  THE  STATUE  OF  AURORA. 

and  your  voice  is  music  itself,  bnt  we  must  leave  Fol- 
clietto  di  Provenza  until  some  other  time." 

Reluctantly  the  young  girl  closed  her  book,  for  the 
sad  romance  of  the  i 

"■  giovan  paggio  •  .    » 

IH  Ruimondo  di  ToloM  " 

had  touched  her  heart  to  the  very  core  with  a  nameless 
yearning,  with  pity  and  sorrow  for  the  sad  fate  of  one 
BO  young  and  brave. 

Reluctantly  she  took  the  arm  of  her  father,  bnt 
before  she  drew  the  thick  veil  over  her  face  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  brown  curly  head  and  a  pair  of  lumi- 
nous eyes,  and  a  form  as  straight  and  handsome  as 
that  of  the  Apollo  in  her  father's  studio. 

For  a  moment  her  heart  bounded  timidly,  for  she 
thought  it  might  be  a  vision  of  tlie  young  Folchetto, 
evoked  from  her  admiration  of  his  beauty  and  her  sym- 
pathy for  his  sad  fate  ;  but  when  he  smiled  on  her  with 
a  warm,  bright  smile,  and  withdrew  quickly  again 
behind  the  statue,  she  knew  he  was  a  mortal  man  and 
no  imaginary  hero  of  romance. 

With  the  natural /nme  of  a  woman,  she  undei-stood 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  ;  oo  she  said  nothing  to 
her  father,  but  with  a  sigh  and  a  backward  glance,  she 
went  away  in  the  twilight  among  the  shadowy  trees  like 
a  fair  young  saint  leading  an  6,11  spirit  to  heaven,  f.>l- 
lowed  by  the  worshipping  eyes  of  Valdimer  Nordiskoff. 


AURORA. 

nt  we  m\i8t  leave  Fol- 

;licr  time." 

osed  her  book,  for  the 

I 

Folosa" 

ry  core  with  a  nameless 

for  the  sad  fate  of  oue 

rm  of  her  father,  bnt 
vcr  her  face  she  canght 
id  and  a  pair  of  luini- 
liglit  and  handsome  as 
r's  stndio. 

Hindcd  timidly,  for  she 
)f  the  yonng  Folchetto, 
his  beanty  and  her  sym- 
Bn  he  smiled  on  her  with 
rithdrew  qnickly  again 
ve  was  a  mortal  man  and 

I  woman,  she  undei-stood 
1 ;  oo  she  said  nothing  to 
i  a  backward  glance,  she 
ng  the  shadowy  trees  like 
evil  spirit  to  heaven,  fnl- 
3  of  Valdimer  Nordiskoff. 


THE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO.        147 


CHAPTER  X. 

TIIB  HOME  IN  THE  VIA   SAN   GALLO. 

|UE  humble  cottage  nndcr  the  cypress  trees  on 
San  Miniato  was  deserted.     The  pale  face  and 
bent  figure  of  the  hunchback  was  seen  no  more 
in  the  little  garden,  working  in  the  shade  of  his  trellis, 
where  the  vines  grew  so  luxuriantly,  nor  at  twilight  iu 
the  seat  under  the  cypress,  with  the  fair-liaired  girl 
bending  ovor  a  book  on  his  knee.    Nana  browsed  no 
more  in  peaceful  content  among  the  rocks  or  on  the 
garden   border,  where  Lisa  so  of  ton  had  decked  her 
with   flowers  and   romped  and  laughed  with  her  in 
childish  glee ;  for  her  poor  old  bones  lay  quietly  at  the 
foot  of  the  gnarled  olive,  where  her  sweet  mistress,  with 
many  teaw,  had  seen  her  buried,  a  few  days  before  she 
left  the  beloved  spot  forever. 

The  docile  animal  had  died  of  old  age,  and  when 
one  morning,  coming  no  more  at  Hugo's  call,  they 
searched  for  her  and  found  her  cold  and  stiff  under 
the  olive  where  she  had  rested  her  feeble  limbs  for 
many  a  day,  they  buried  her  there,  and  Lisa  mourned 
for  her  as  though  she  had  been  human,  and  even  the 
hunchback  wiped  away  a  secret  tear  and  said  to  him- 


148        THE  HOME  IN  THE  VTA  BAN  GALLO. 

6el£  sadly,  "  It  is  the  beginning  of  change,  and  things 
will  never  be  the  same  again."  : 

Ilis  words  were  prophetic.  It  was  the  beginning  of 
change,  for  ho  had  already  decided  that  he  must  leave 
the  retirement  of  the  cottage,  which,  on  account  of  his 
increasing  reputation  and  Lisa's  young  womanhood, 
was  altogether  too  small  for  their  needs. 

His  work  found  such  a  ready  sale,  and  his  orders 
being  more  important,  required  greater  space  and  bet- 
ter light  than  his  little  studio  on  the  hill  afforded  him. 
Beside,  he  conld  no  longer  remain  unknown  and  hid- 
den from  the  world  in  his  seclusion,  for  his  genius, 
as  well  as  the  beauty  of  his  model,  the  Lily  of  San 
Miniato,  as  she  was  called,  had  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  world  to  his  modest  retreat,  and  he  now  felt 
that  he  conld  be  more  secluded  in  the  great  city  than 
in  the  spot  where  ho  had  passed  his  early  days  of  ob- 
scurity and  poverty. 

After  some  search  for  a  suitable  place,  both  by  him- 
self and  Signora  Pia,  who  had  remained  an  inmate  of 
his  home  ever  since  the  night  he  had  found  her  weep- 
ing under  the  trees  near  San  Salvador,  he  at  length 
fixed  upon  a  roomy  and  commodious  apartment  in  the 
Via  San  Gallo,  that  had  formerly  been  occupied  by 
an  artist,  and  whose  chief  attraction  was  a  vast  and 
well-lighted  studio. 

To  this  place  Ilugo  moved  his  humble  household, 


SAN"  GALLO. 
change,  and  things 

ras  the  beginning  of 
1  that  ho  tnnst  leave 
ih,  on  account  ot"  hi9 
yonng  womanhood, 
needs. 

sale,  and  hig  orders 
•cater  space  and  bot- 
ne  hill  afforded  him. 
I  unknown  and  hid- 
sion,  for  hia  genius, 
del,  the  Lily  of  San 
racted  the  attention 
•at,  and  ho  now  felt 
n  the  great  city  than 
bis  early  days  of  ob- 

5  place,  both  by  him- 
mained  an  inmate  of 
had  found  her  weep- 
ilvador,  he  at  length 
ous  apartment  in  the 
y  been  occupied  by 
jtion  was  a  vast  and 

B  humble  household, 


THE  HOME  m  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO.        149 

not  without  some  regret  and  misgiving  ;  for  the  cottage 
on  San  Miniato  had  become  very  dear  to  him ;  there 
ho  had  passed  the  only  happy,  peacefid  days  he  had 
known  since  his  early  childhood  ;  there  he  had  lived 
in  uninterrupted  seclusion  with  his  Lisa  during  the 
time  of  her  infancy,  enjoying  her  sweet  baljyhood  un- 
disturbed, and  her  first  love  undivided,  for  no  one  had 
come  between  them.  As  nnich  as  he  liked  and  re- 
spected Signora  Pia,  and  as  faitliful  and  efficient  as  ho 
had  found  her,  he  was  at  times  jealous  of  the  young 
girl's  affection  for  her,  and  even  of  the  time  they 
passed  together,  and  never  did  he  see  Lisa  lean  upon 
the  woman's  shoulder,  twine  her  arm  around  her  neck, 
or  lay  her  golden  head  upon  the  kind,  motherly  bosom, 
thiit  ho  did  not  feel  a  sharp  pang,  a  pain,  as  though 
some  one  had  stabbed  him  to  the  heart. 

lie  tried  to  overcome  this  unreasonable  feeling,  for 
he  well  knew  that  he  coidd  not  monopolize  the  affection 
of  her  ardent,  loving  heart,  that  he  could  not  control 
her  desires  and  aspirations,  her  romantic  fancies,  her 
vague  longings  after  another  and  brighter  life. 

"  Some  time,"  he  thought,  with  unutteralde  sorrow, 
"  She  may  see  another  whom  she  will  love  better  than 
the  poor  deformed  creature,  wno,  after  all,  has  no  natu- 
j-al  claim  upon  her  heart," 

Again,  at  times,  he  was  seized  with  fear  that  in  some 
way  she  might  discover  that  she  was  not  his  child,  and 


;■  { 


J 50        THE  HOME  IN  TUE  VIA  SAN  GAr.LO. 


if  she  shoiikl,  what  guarantee  had  ho  that  she  would 
not  hato  and  despise  him  for  the  deception  he  had 
practised  upon  her. 

"  She   must  never  know.     I  must  guard  my  secret 
with  double  vigilance  now.     Oh  1  if  she  had  been  but 
the  least  like  mo  in  color  or  feature,  if  she  had  been 
dark  instead  of  this  fair,  delicate  beauty,  this  lily-liko 
grace.     I  cannot  keep  her  concealed  from  all  eyes,  for 
that  in  itself  would  cause  suspicion,  and  when  stran- 
gers see  her,  as  they  must  some  time,  will  they  not  make 
invidious  comparisons  between  us  ?    W  ^  1 '  they  not  say, 
•  How  came  that  hideous  creature  by  such  an  exqui- 
sitely lovely  daughter  ? '     And  then  they  may  suspect 
and  investigate,  and  perhaps  discover,  for  God  may 
help  them  to  punish  the  guilty.    And  they  will  say' 
that  I  am  doubly  criminal  because  I  stole  her  for  gain, 
that  I  have  traded  on  her  charms,  that  I  have  copied 
her  matchless  beauty  and  turned  it  into  vile  gold.     O 
Holy  Mother,  thou  knowest  my  heart,  and  thou  know- 
est  how  I  love  her,  and  how  unselfish  that  love  is,  that 
I  have  been  tender  and  good  to  her,  that  I  have  taught 
her  only  what  is  noble  and  pure,  that  I  have  toiled 
faithfully  and  that  1  live  only  for  her." 

At  such  moments,  when  the  poor  hunchback  imag- 
ined the  possibility  of  his  seci-et  being  discovered,  he 
would  suffer  terrible  agony.  If  it  happened  that  at 
night  the  though);  came  to  him,  he  would  arise  from  hia 


I  SAK  OAr.LO. 

id  lio   that  sho  would 
the  doception   lie  had 

must  guard  iny  secret 
1  if  she  had  been  but 
iture,  if  she  had  been 
c  beauty,  this  lily-liko 
aled  from  all  eyes,  for 
cioii,  and  when  stran- 
ime,  will  they  not  make 
18?    Wil!  they  not  say, 
are  by  such  an  exqui- 
then  they  may  suspect 
liscover,  for  God  may 
y.    And  they  will  say ' 
use  I  stole  her  for  gain, 
ms,  that  1  have  copied 
d  it  into  vile  gold.     O 
heart,  and  thou  know- 
iselfish  that  love  is,  that 
her,  that  I  have  taught 
)ure,  that  I  have  toiled 
for  her." 

poor  hunchback  imag- 
et  being  discovered,  he 
If  it  happened  that  at 
he  would  arise  from  hia 


THE  HOME  JN  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO.        t51 

hod  and  pace  the  floor  of  his  room,  trembling  with  a 
„.mele.9  dread,  a  sort  of  superstitious  fear  that,  by 
some  means  brought  about  by  a  mysterious  Providence, 
lus  sin  would  be  discovered  and  that  he  would  lose 
the  treasure  of  his  life,  and  not  only  herself,  but  her 
love  and  respect. 

Lisa  was  his  world,  beyond  her  he  saw  nothing,  her 
praise  was  sweeter  to  his  ear  than  the  m.ited  voice  of 
all  creation.  Her  flattery,  her  pretty  compliments,  and 
evident  satisfaction  in  his  success,  made  him  the  hap- 
piest of  mortals,  for  all  he  had  that  she  could  be  proud 
of  was  his  genius.    Often  he  wondered   if  his  mis- 
diapen   body  hooked  as  hideous   to  her  as  it  did  to 
others,  or  whether,  always  having  seen  hhn,  she  had  be- 
come so  accustomed  to  him  that  she  did  not  notice  the 
great  difference  between  him  and  the  rest  of  mankind. 
If  the  girl  did  notice  and  feel  the  misfortune  of  his 
deformity,  she  never  showed  it  by  word  or  sign,  and 
if  she  had  been  really  his  child,  she  could  not  have 
felt  a  deeper  devotion,  a  more  genuine  love  than  she 
did  for  the  patient,  gentle  being  who  lavished  such 
constant  care  and  affection  upon  her.     Perhaps  there 
was  something  in  her  tender,  noble  nature  that  re- 
sponded to  his  needy,  suffering  soul  more  readily  be- 
cause he  was  afflicted  and  despised  by  others.    Wlmt- 
over  the  bond  was  between  them,  the  girl  certainly 
loved  the  hunchback  with  all  a  daughter's  reverent 


162         THE  HOME  IN  THE   VIA  SAN  GALLO. 


fondiiC88,  never  seeming  to  notice  his  ungainly  person, 
or  showing  tlie  slightest  repulsion  to  a  form  thtit  othera 
looked  upon  as  altogether  unlovely. 

"  lie  is  so  good,  and  has  su(!h  a  beautiful  heart,  and 
Bueh  wonderful  genius,  that  all  the  world  ought  to 
admire  him,"  she  would  say  proudly  to  Sigiiora  I'ia, 
who  always  agreed  with  her  and  encouraged  lior  in  her 
devotion  to  her  father.        V 

One  day  tlie  two  sat  together  in  Hugo's  studio — 
Lisa  on  a  low  stool  at  the  feet  of  a  life-size  east  of 
Apollo,  busy  with  some  endjroidery,  while  Signora 
Pia  plied  her  needle  indnstnonsly,  fashiitning  a  simple 
garment  for  the  girl,  who  did  not  like  plain,  uninterest- 
ing work,  hut  something  dainty  and  pretty,  that  amused 
as  well  as  occupied  her. 

'•  I  wish  I  liked  to  do  useful  things,"  she  said  in  re- 
ply to  a  remark  from  Signora  Pia,  "  but  I  do  not ;  it  is 
jny  nature,  and  I  cannot  change  it." 

"  Perhaps  it  does  not  matter  while  there  is  no  need 
foi-  it,  but  if  you  were  obliged  to,  I  think  you  would  bo 
equal  to  the  emergency." 

"  I  know  not;  1  like  only  what  is  pleasant  and  beauti- 
ful," replied  the  gii'l  with  a  sigh. 

"Ah,  my  dear  child,  that  is  wrong,  for  in  this  world 
we  caimot  have  only  what  is  pleasant  and  beautiful." 

"  I  know  that  well,  Signora,  for  if  we  could  I  should 
not  be  sitting  here  iu  this  gloomy  room,  when  1  should 


1  &Ly  OALLO. 

0  his  ungainly  person, 
u  to  a  form  thiit  otiicrs 

a*  Ijcantiful  heart,  and 

tlio    world  ought    to 

)ndly  to  Sigiiora   Pia, 

encouraged  hor  in  lier 

r  in  lingo's  studio — 
of  a  lifc-sizo  cast  of 
ider}',  while  Signora 
y,  fabhittning  a  simple 
like  plain,  nninterest- 
iid  pretty,  that  amused 

lings,"  she  said  in  re- 

a,  "  but  1  do  not ;  it  is 

it." 

rhile  there  is  no  need 

1  think  you  would  bo 

is  pleasant  and  beauti- 

•ong,  for  in  tliis  world 
asant  and  beautiful," 
r  if  we  could  I  should 
'  room,  when  1  should 


TIIK  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  OALLO.        153 

like  to  bo  out  in  the  sunshine,  among  the  troea  and 
tlowcrs." 

"liut  you  cannot  go  to  the  gardens  every  day,  my 
dear;  you  are  unreasonable;  why,  only  yesterday  your 
l)ivpa  took  you  to  tlio  Torrigiani,  and  you  remained 
there  until  the  sun  went  d(.wn.  Now  you  should  be 
contented  to  stay  quietly  at  home  to-day." 

"  Ihit  that  is  just  the  reason  1  am  not  contented 
to  day.  I  am  thinking  all  the  time  of  how  delight- 
ful it  was  then,  and  how  dull  it  is  now.  It  always 
seems  more  gloomy  hero  after  1  have  been  to  the  gar- 
dens." 

"  That  would  not  please  your  father  should  he  hear 
you;  nay,  it  would  pain  him  deeply,  for  he  wishes  you 
to  be  happy  in  his  society,  and  in  the  home  that  he 
labors  so  hard  to  make  for  you." 

''  Yes,  it  would  make  papa  unhappy  I  know,  for  he 
never  likes  to  take  mo  out.  I  see  that  ho  is  always  re- 
luctant to  go,  and  why  should  he  be  ?  Other  parents 
are  not  so." 

"  My  child,  you  should  not  complain  of  your  father ; 
he  knows  what  is  best  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  complain,  only  I  should  be  happier  if  I 
were  not  always  shut  up,"  returned  the  young  girl  with 

a  sigh. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  you  ai-e  in  a  bad  humor  this  morn- 
ing, and  you  should  say  iifty  aves,  aud  then  you  will  be 


i: 


lU        TIIK  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  OALLO. 

liappior  whon  your  pur  a  returns.     I  hc^  tlint  you  will 
not  lot  hlui  SCO  the  least  nhadow  on  your  fa(^o." 

"  Ah  1  Si^iiora,  you  arc  always  good,"  cried  Lisa, 
rising  iinpulsivcly  and  putting  hor  arms  aroimd  the 
woman's  neck,  "and  I  am  a  wicked,  ungrAtcfnl  girl, 
but  1  will  not  lot  papa  know  of  my  discontent  and 
complaining." 

*'  Now  you  arc  your  sweet  self,  and  you  shall  go  to 
Vespers  with  me  by  and  by,  and  ask  the  Holy  Mother 
to  strengthen  your  good  resolution." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Hugo  entered 
with  an  unusually  quick  stop,  and  a  cheerful  smile  on 
his  thin  face,  (toing  straight  to  Lisa  ho  bent  over  her 
and  kissed  her  forehead,  saying,  in  toties  of  siippressed 
happiness  and  gratification,  "I  have  pleasant  news  for 
you,  cara  mia.     My  statue  of  Aurora  has  taken  the 

prize." 

«'  Oh  1  papa,  is  it  true  1  I  am  so  glad,"  cried  the  girl, 
throwing  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck  ajid  kiss- 
ing him  fondly  on  both  sallow  cheeks.  "  "Why,  I  am  so 
proud,  so  happy,"  and  then,  overcome  by  her  joy,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Ah  1  now  do  not  weep,  my  Lisa,  or  I  shall  regret 
my  success,  for  I  would  not  bring  a  tear  to  your  sweet 
eyes  for  the  honor  of  all  the  world,"  said  the  hunch- 
back, tenderly  stroking  the  girl's  lovely  hair. 

"But  they  are  tears  of  joy,  papa;  and  see,  they  are 


A  SAN  OALLO. 

.  I  beg  that  you  will 
on  your  fac^o." 
ays  good,"  cried  I^iaa, 
hor  arms  annnid  the 
icked,  uugrAtcsfiil  girl, 
of  my  discontent  and 

elf,  and  you  bIuvII  go  to 
1  ask  the  Holy  Mother 
ion." 

ned  and  Hugo  entered 
[id  a  cheerful  smile  on 
[)  Lisa  ho  bent  over  her 
,  in  toties  of  siippressed 
have  jjleasant  news  for 
Aurora  has  taken  the 

so  glad,"  cried  the  girl, 
father's  neck  ajid  kiss- 
iheeks.  "  "Why,  I  am  so 
ercome  by  her  joy,  she 

■  Lisa,  or  I  shall  regret 
ing  a  tear  to  your  sweet 
.vorld,"  said  the  hunch- 
I's  lovely  hair, 
papa ;  and  see,  they  are 


Tim  llOMK  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  OALLO. 


155 


jroi.c  already,"  returned  Lisa,  holding  up  her  face  that 
looked  as  bright  and  frcbh  as  a  rose  washed  by  a 
siinnncr  shower. 

.»N«.w,  my  child,  you  see  how  good  our  Blessed 
Mother   is  to   us,"  whispered   Signora   Pia.     "But  a 
moment  ago  you  were  coniplaiuing  because  you  had 
„o  more  pleasure,  and  see  how  soon  happiness  camo 
when  once  you  renigned  yourself  to  the  will  of  God, 
and  promised  to  bo  contented  with  your  lot."       ^       ^^ 
"  It  is  a  great  honor  to  receive  the  medal,  certainly,' 
said  Hugo,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "but  i  wish  I 
n.ight  sell  the  statue  at  once  to  somo^^of  these  great 
nol)lcs  who  have  awarded  me  the  prize." 

"You  will,  papa;  I  am  sure  you  will  sell  it  for  a 
great  deal  of  umney ;  you  know  everything  you  do  .9 
sold  at  once,"  cried  Lisa  hopefully. 

''  I  was  told  that  a  rich  Florentine  noble,  the  Duko 
of  Castellara,  has  asked  what  price  I  have  put  upon  it, 
and  has  spoken  highly  of  its  ,nerits,  and  a  Kuss.an 
noblo  also  has  noticed  it  favorably." 

«  You  are  fortunate,  Signore,  to  receive  praise  from 
such  great  men,"  said  the  Signora  Pia.  «Tho  Duko 
of  Castellara  is  one  high  in  power,  and  richer  than  any 
other  noble  in  Florence,  and  as  generous  as  he  is  nch; 
let  us  pray  that  he  may  purchase  the  Aurora." 

While  Signora  Pia  was  yet  speaking  there  came  a 
ring  at  the  door,  and  it  waB  bo  unusual  an  occurrence 


156 


THE  HOME  IN  TUE   VIA  SAN  GALLO. 


t 


that  Lisa  started  up,  flushed  with  delight,  for  she 
fancied  one  of  the  rich  nobles  that  they  had  been 
speaking  of  had  certainly  appeared  to  offer  her  father 
a  fabulous  price  for  the  statue  of  Aurora ;  but  lingo, 
instead  of  showing  any  satisfaction,  looked  around  anx- 
iously, much  like  a  startled  animal  that  would  conceal 
itself,  and  said,  "Who  has  come  to  disturb  us,  I 
wonder? " 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  only  one  of  the  mencUcante^''  said 
Signora  Pia,  going  to  the  door. 

In  a  moment  she  returned,  smiling  and  excited. 
"It  is  a  S ignore,  who  wishes  to  see  you  on  a  matter  of 
importance." 

"  Who  dares  intrude  upon  my  privacy  in  this  way  ? " 
cried  Hugo  in  sudden  wrath,  "  Say  to  him,  whoever 
he  is.  that  I  have  no  business  with  him,  and  that  I  will 
not  see  him." 

"  Why,  papa,  it  may  be  some  one  to  buy  your  statue ; 
do  not  send  him  away  without  a  hearing,"  said  Lisa 
soothingly,  greatly  surprised  at  her  father's  singular 
manner. 

"  lie  seems  an  honest  man,"  ventured  Signora  Pia, 
quite  alarmed  at  the  hunchback's  pallor  and  agitation. 

"  Ask  him  his  name  and  business,"  at  length  said 
lingo,  evidently  trying  to  master  his  annoyance. 

When  Signora  Pia  returned,  she  smiled  triumphant- 
ly, and  laid  a  soiled  card  before  the  hunchback,  saying, 


SAIf  GALLO. 

ith  delight,  for  she 
that  they  had  been 
•ed  to  offer  her  father 
'  Aurora ;  but  Hugo, 
II,  looked  around  anx- 
il  that  would  conceal 
ne  to  disturb   us,  I 

he  jnerulicante"  said 

railing  and  excited. 
36  you  on  a  matter  of 

privacy  in  this  way  ? " 
Say  to  him,  whoever 
I  him,  and  that  I  will 

e  to  buy  your  statue ; 
1  hearing,"  said  Lisa 
her  father's  singular 

jntured  Signora  Pia, 
pallor  and  agitation. 
iness,"  at  length  said 
his  annoyance, 
e  smiled  triumphant- 
le  hunchback,  saying, 


THE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO.        157 

"  He  is  no  impertinent  intruder,  as  you  will  see,  and 
he  has  come  to  speak  about  the  statue." 

"  Signor  Berto — who  is  Signor  Bcto  ?  "  said  Hugo, 
reading  llie  name  aloud,  "Ah!  I  remember;  he  is 
the  copyist  in  the  Oalleria.  Well,  T  will  see  him  this 
time  ;  but  remember,  for  the  future,  that  I  do  not  re- 
ceive visitors.  Tell  him  to  enter,  Signora  Pia,  and  you, 
Lisa,  go  to  your  own  room."  / 

The  young  girl  went  out  rather  unwillingly,  winfe  the 
hunchback  waited  in  sullen  silence  to  receive  his  visitor. 

When  Master  Berto  entered  and  Signora  Pia  closed 
the  door  upon,  him,  Hugo  came  forward  with  the  most 
forbidding  air,  and  curtly  inquired  his  business. 

The  poor  little  copyist,  now  that  he  had  succeeded  in 
gaining  admittance  to  the  eccentric  sculptor,  was  as 
timid  and  frightened  as  he  had  been  hopeful  and  bold 
before  he  entered,  and  the  sullen  maimer  of  the  strange 
man  did  not  tend  to  reassure  him  in  the  least,  so  it 
was  with  trembling  and  much  hesitation  that  he  finally 
made  known  his  errand. 

"  Pardon  me,  Signore,  for  intruding  upon  you ;  but  I 
trust  my  errand  will  excuse  my  seeming  rudeness." 

"  I  never  receive  any  one  in  my  house,"  interrupted 
Hugo,  with  more  frankness  than  politeness. 

"  So  I  have  understood,  Signore,  but  pray  listen,  and 
you  will  see  that  my  visit  is  not  of  any  interest  to  me, 
but  rather  a  favor  to  yourself." 


:J.       ii 


:mi 


irtj^^ii. 


158         THE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  OALLO. 

■   «  I  will  jndge  of  that  when  I  know  your  object  in 
coming,"  retnrncd  lingo,  coldly  and  proudly. 

"Yesterday,  at  the  Academia,  I  heard  a  Russian 
noble  asking  who  you  were  and  where  you  could  be 
found,  as  he  wished  to  give  you  a  commission  for  a 

statue." 

Hugo's  severe  face  relaxed  a  little,  and  he  seemed  to 

listen  with  interest,  as  Berto  went  on. 

"  As  no  one  present  seemed  able  to  give  him  the  in- 
formation he  desired,  I  came  forward  and  told  him 
what  little  I  knew  of  you.  Of  course,  Signore,  I 
praised  your  work  greatly,  and  said  all  that  I  could  in 

your  favor." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you,"  replied 
Hugo,  looking  at  him  anxiously,  for  he  was  in  a  hurry 
to  have  him  end  his  communication. 

"  The  noble  then  requested  me  to  arrange  a  time  and 
place  of  meeting;  therefore  I  took  the  liberty  of 
coming  to  ask  you  what  hour  you  would  wish  him  to 

call  upon  you."  ^^ 

«  1  do  not  wish  him  to  call  upon  me  at  all,  said 
Hugo,  excitedly ;  «I  just  now  told  you  I  did  not  re- 

ceive  visitors." 

«  But  surely,  Signore,  when  it  is  so  much  to  your  ad- 
vantage, you  will  not  refuse  1 "  said  Berto,  timidly. 

"Iain  the  best  judge  of  that,  and  I  will  not  allow 
strangers  to  intrude  upon  the  privacy  of  my  home." 


raur 


[4  SAN  OALLO. 

I  know  your  object  in 
r  and  proxidly. 
iia,  I  heard  a  Russian 
id  where  you  could  be 
ou  a  commission  for  a 

little,  and  he  seemed  to 

ent  on. 

able  to  give  him  the  in- 
forward  and  told  him 
Of  course,  Signore,  I 
said  all  that  I  could  in 

obliged  to  you,"  replied 
y,  for  he  was  in  a  hurry 
nation. 

me  to  arrange  a  time  and 

I  I  took  the  liberty  of 

you  would  wish  him  to 

.1  upon  me  at  all,"  said 
w  told  you  I  did  not  re- 

1  it  is  so  much  to  your  ad- 
"  said  Berto,  timidly, 
hat,  and  I  will  not  allow 
privacy  of  my  home." 


THE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO.        159 

« T"';en  where  may  I  tell  him  tliat  you  will  meet 

him  ? " 

"  Is  it  absolntely  necessary  that  I  should  meet  this 
man  ?  I  dislike  much  to  meet  strangers ;  my  infirmity 
and  my  ill-health  make  it  painful,"  said  Ilugo,  as  if 
to  apologize  for  his  seeming  rudeness. 

« I  understand,  Signore,  but  he  is  decided  to  have 
an  interview  with  you ;  there  are  certain  conditions 
that  he  wishes  to  make  with  you  personally." 

«  Very  well,  you  can  say  to  him  that  I  will  meet  him 
to-morrow  at  two  o'clock,  in  the  north  room  of  the 
AcademiaP 

"  Thank  yon,  Signore.  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  yonr 
kindness,"  and  the  little  copyist  hastened  to  the 
door,   thankful  that  the  disagreeable  interview  was 

over. 

"  If  I  have  seemed  inhospitable  and  rude,  I  beg  that 
you  will  pardon  me,"  said  Hugo,  with  more  gentleness 
than  he  had  shown  during  the  interview ;  "  but  I  am 
not  like  other  men  ;  to  be  polite,  I  cannot  be  untruth- 
ful, therefore  my  lips  say  what  my  heart  dictates ;  and 
believe  me,  though  my  manners  are  ungracious,  I  am 
none  the  less  thankful  to  you  for  your  interest  and 
trouble  in  this  matter." 

« It  has  been  no  trouble,  Signore,  I  am  happy  to 

serve  you." 

And  Berto  went  away  with  the  impression  that,  after 


iii         ! 


II'"" 


Ik         • 


ICO        THE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  GjiLLO. 

all,  the  hunchback  was  not  as  disagreeable  as  ho  had 
thought  him  at  first. 

"  Here  he  comes,  Signore ;  now  is  our  chance  to 
8])cak  to  him.  You  stand  aside  a  little,  please,  and 
I  will  speak  to  him  first,  for,  although  he  expects  to 
me«3t  you,  he  is  as  shy  as  a  wild  beast,  and  might  run 
oif,  after  all,  without  waiting  for  the  interview  ;  then 
our  only  sure  opportunity  of  meeting  him  would  bo 
lost,  and  I  had  so  much  trouble  to  get  admitted  to  his 
house,  and  more  to  get  him  to  promise  to  meet  you  ; 
ho  is  a  most  singular  character,  as  yon  will  see  for 
yourself." 

Count  Valdimer  Nordiskoff  and  Berto  stood  in  the 
north  room  of  the  Academia  waiting  for  Hugo,  who 
approached  them  slowly,  coming  out  of  the  shadow  of 
an  inner  room  into  the  broad  light  that  streamed  on 
him  from  a  lofty  window. 

He  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes  wei-e  cast  down  as 
though  they  were  weighted  with  unshed  tears,  while  his 
thin  hands  were  clenched  together  tightly,  for  he  was 
trying  to  control  his  natural  timidity  and  dislike  to 
meeting  strangers. 

The  unfortunate  man  started  like  a  frightened  deer, 
as  Berto  approached  him,  and  looked  around  as  though 
he  would  j-ather  retreat  than  advance ;  however,  contnjl- 
ling  his  feelings,  after  a  moment,  with  a  wan  smile,  he 


THE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO. 


161 


'A  SAN  OjiLLO. 


disagreeable  as  ho  had 


now  is  our  chance  to 
de  a  Httle,  please,  and 
ilthough  he  exjiects  to 
Id  beast,  and  might  run 
'or  the  interview  ;  then 
meeting  him  would  bo 
J  to  get  admitted  to  his 
promise  to  meet  you  ; 
sr,  as  you  will  see  for 

and  Berto  stood  in  the 
waiting  for  Hugo,  who 
s  out  of  the  shadow  of 
light  that  streamed  on 

3ye8  were  cast  down  as 
I  unshed  tears,  while  his 
thor  tightly,  for  he  was 
timidity  and  dislike  to 

[  like  a  frightened  deer, 
looked  around  as  though 
^ance ;  however,  contr<jl- 
it,  with  a  wan  smile,  he 


held  out  his  hand  and  said,  "  You  see  I  am  here.  Sig- 
ner Berto,  according  to  agreement." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  not  failed  to  come,  for  I  have 
good  news  for  yon,"  said  Uerto  in  a  low  tone  and 
■rlancinjr  atYaldimer,  who  stood  a  little  aside.  "  I  have 
been  talking  again  with  this  Russian  noble,  while  we 
waited  your  coming.  I  am  told  he  is  as  rich  as  a  gold 
mine,  and  ho  will  give  you  a  commission,  I  am  sure, 
for  he  tells  mo  lie  admires  your  Aurora  beyond  any- 
thing modern." 

At  that  moment  Count  Yaldimer  came  forward,  and 
Berto,  witli  a  satisfied  smile,  presented  the  sculptor  to 
him. 

The  Count  held  out  his  hand  frankly  and  said  pleas- 
antly, "  I  am  ha])py  to  meet  one  whoso  genius  I  so 
much  admire." 

Again  lingo  looked  around  as  though  ho  would  like 
to  escape,  if  he  could,  and  much  to  Berto's  surprise  re- 
fused to  take  the  hand  tlie  noble  had  so  kindly  offered 
him,  standing  silent  with  downcast  eyes  and  dull,  im- 
passive face. 

Count  Yaldimer  did  not  seem  to  notice  his  fingnlar 
manner,  but  went  on  in  his  easy  way :  "  I  supixise  Sig- 
ner Berto  has  told  you  that  I  should  like  to  give  you 
a  commission  for  a  statue  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Signor  Count." 

"  And  you  will  accept  it,  will  you  not  ?  " 


'jmsmmmn" 


;lp*' 


162         TEE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  G  iLLO. 


t 


'    «I  will,  Signore." 

«  And  you  will  work  from  the  same  model  as  that  of 

the  Auroral"  '  ' 

«  Certainly,  Slgnoic,  u  you  wish  it;  but  what  does 
it  matter  who  my  model  is  so  that  my  work  pleases 
youl  It  will  depend  upon  the  subject  you  choose, 
whether  I  can  use  the  same  model  or  not,"  said  Hugo, 
with  a  strange,  inquiring  look  at  the  Count. 

"You  may  select  your  own  subject.  Let  it  be 
Hebe,  if  that  suits  you.  I  care  not  what  name  you 
give  it,  so  that  the  face  is  the  same  as  the  face  of  the 

Aurora." 

An  ominous  flush  passed  over  the  sallow  features  of 
the  hunchback,  and  he  clenched  his  hands,  looking 
around  restlessly,  but  said  nothing. 

Count  Valdimer  went  on,  « If  you  will  agree  to  this 
I  will  pay  you,  on  the  day  it  is  finished,  ten  thousand 

scudV 

Hugo  started  and  muttered :  «  Ten  thousand  acudi  ? 
«  Otherwise,"  continued  the  Count,  "I  shall  not  give 
you  the  commission." 

"  I  will  do  as  you  wish,  Signore." 
«  And  I  wish  to  see  the  work  from  time  to  time  dur- 
ing its  progress." 

A  dark,  stubborn  expression  settled  around  Hugo's 
mouth,  while  he  closed  his  lipa  firmly  and  made  no  re- 
ply. 


lA  SAN  GiLLO. 

Q  same  model  as  that  of 

wish  it ;  but  what  does 
o  that  my  work  pleases 
he  subject  you  choose, 
odel  or  not,"  said  Hugo, 
at  the  Count. 
m  subject.  Let  it  bo 
3are  not  what  name  you 
same  as  the  face  of  the 

cr  the  sallow  features  of 
Bhed  his  hands,  looking 

hing. 

If  you  will  agree  to  this 

is  finished,  ten  thousand 

:  "  Ten  thousand  scvdi  f  " 
3  Count,  "I  shall  not  give 


gnore. 

rk  from  time  to  time  dur- 

on  settled  around  Hugo's 
pa  firmly  and  made  no  re- 


TIIE  HOME  IN  THE  VIA  SAN  GALLO. 


163 


Count  Valdimer  waited  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  a 
little  impatiently,  "Do  you  agree  to  this  ?  " 

"  No,  Signore  Count ;  I  admit  no  one  to  my  studio 
during  the  progress  of  my  work." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  withdi-aw  my  offer ;  but  ten  thou- 
sand  HCiidi  ought  not  to  be  thrown  away  on  a  caprice." 

"  It  is  not  a  caprice,  Signore  ;  it  is  a  principle.  I 
prefer  not  to  admit  the  outside  world  into  the  privacy 
of  my  home." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude  into  the  privacy  of  your 
home,  I  only  ask  to  visit  your  studio." 

"  My  studio  is  my  home,  but,  as  you  have  said,  ten 
thousand  acudi  is  not  to  be  thrown  away,  therefore  you 
may  come." 

"  When  will  you  begin  your  work  ?  " 

"To-morrow." 

"  And  when  may  I  make  my  firet  visit  ? " 

"  In  a  month,"  and  without  another  word  Hugo 
turned  his  back  on  the  Count  and  walked  away,  clench- 
ing his  hands  and  frowning  sullenly. 

"  An  amiable,  grateful  fellow,"  said  Count  Yaldimer 
to  Berto,  who  stood  speechless,  watching  the  retreating 
figure  of  the  hunchback.  "  Upon  my  word,  his  inso- 
lence was  almost  unbearable." 

"  I  told  you  he  was  a  singular  being,"  replied  Berto 
apologetically.  "But  he  is  a  great  genius  and  one 
must  put  up  with  his  eccentricities  because  of  that." 


I    f 


164 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


"  And  he  has  a  lovely  daughter,"  returned  the  Count, 
"  which  I  care  innch  more  for  than  I  do  for  the  old 
monster's  talents.  I  am  much  obliged  to  yon,  Sigiior 
Berto,  for  your  success  in  bringing  about  this  meeting, 
and  if  I  am  as  fortunate  with  the  daughter  as  you  have 
been  with  the  father,  I  shall  be  still  more  indebted  to 
you.  So  good  day,  and  many  thanks,"  and  Count  Vul- 
diiner  walked  away,  well  satisfied  with  his  mornin<^ 
work. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


LISA'S   EOMANCE. 


\ 


|ISA  was  alone  in  her  father's  studio  on  the 
day  of  his  meeting  with  the  Count  Valdiincr 
Xordiskoff  in  the  north  room  of  i\\e  Academia. 
Signora  Pia  had  gone  to  market,  and  there  was  no  one 
in  the  great  silent  apartment  but  herself. 

The  studio  was  a  large,  dreary  room,  lighted  by  one 
high  window,  through  which  was  visible  a  patch  of  blue 
sky,  a  lofty  tower,  and  a  line  of  distant  hill ;  casts  fi-om 
the  antique,  looking  grim  and  ghostly  with  their  sight- 
less eyes,  stood  in  the  shadowy  corners,  and  bits  of 
drapery  fluttered  in  the  soft  air  that  entered  through 
the  open  window.    Old  cArved  furniture,  chairs,  tables, 


rAZVCJK 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


165 


ter,"  roturned  the  Count, 
)!'  than  I  do  for  the  old 
I  obliged  to  yoii,  Siguor 
igiiig  about  this  meotiii},', 
the  daiightei:  as  yoii  have 
bo  still  more  indebted  to 
thanks,"  and  Count  Viil- 
Isfied   with  his  morning 


I  XI. 


ANCE. 


sr  father's  studio  on  the 
ith  the  Count  Valdiinor 
h  room  of  the  Academia. 
:et,  and  there  was  no  one 
but  herself. 

ary  room,  lighted  by  one 
'as  visible  a  patch  of  blue 
f  distant  hill ;  casts  fi-om 
ghostly  with  their  sight- 
»wy  corners,  and  bits  of 
lir  that  entered  through 
1  furniture,  chairs,  tables, 


and  a  great  black  chest,  that  looked  like  n  sarcophagus, 
stood  here  and  there  without  any  regaul  to  careful  ar- 
niiigement,  and  in  that  sort  of  careless  confusion  that 
artists  love  so  well.  Everything  about  the  place  was 
aiuMcnt  and  austere ;  no  bright  color,  no  dainty  trifles 
such  as  please  a  young  girl,  gladdened  the  eyes  of  the 
juuichback's  daughter,  who  sat  in  her  favorite  seat  at 
the  base  of  the  statue  of  Apollo,  holding  a  book,  which 
BJio  was  not  reading,  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  sup- 
ported her  fair  cheek. 

She  wore  no  veil  nor  scarf  now,  and  all  the  wealth 
of  her  hair  fell  unconfined  over  her  graceful  shoulders, 
wliich  were  visible  through  the  thin  drapery  that 
covered  without  concealing  them. 

As  she  sat  there  in  languid  repose,  with  eyes  full  of 
pensive  sweetness,  it  was  evident  that  her  thoughts 
were  of  a  pleasant  nature,  and  that  she  was  dreaming 
a  young  girl's  fii-st  sweet  dream  of  love.  The  book 
she  held  in  her  hand  was  the  work  of  Tommaso  Grossi, 
and  it  was  open  again  at  the  story  of  Folchetto  di  Pro- 
venza.  She  had  been  reading  over  the  sad  romance  of 
the  beautiful  young  page,  and  thinking,  as  she  had  al- 
most every  hour  since  the  day  she  had  read  it  to  her 
father  in  the  garden,  of  the  handsome  stranger  who 
had  smiled  on  her  from  behind  the  statue  of  Fauna. 

Should  she  ever  see  him  again  ?  Why  was  he  there, 
and  why  did  he  smile  on  her  with  a  look  that  went 


166 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


Btmi<'lit  to  her  heart  ?  Curious  and  anxious  to  discover 
the  secrot  of  her  first  adventure,  she  had  the  day  before 
entreated  her  fatiier  to  take  her  to  the  garden  ayain  ; 
but  her  evident  desire  laid  excited  the  hunchback's 
suspicions,  and  ho  had  refused  lier,  for  the  first  time, 
with  sullen  decision. 

She  was  a  prisoner  in  her  father's  house,  watchcl 
over  by  his  jealous  eyes;  denied  all  young  companion- 
ship,  and  all  the  pleasure  of  the  bright  gay  world,  she 
had  never  tasted  any  of  the  joys  of  youth,  but  had  lived 
always  in  retirement — her  only  society  her  sad,  strange 
father,  and  the  serious  Sigii(»ra  Pia,  who  was  growing 
more  grave  and  pious  as  she  grew  old ;  and  who  lec- 
tiu'cd  her  somewhat  eoverely  if  she  laughed  in  the 
freedom  of  her  young  heart,  or  sang  a  snatch  of  a  gay 
song,  such  as  she  occasionally  hoard  from  the  street 
below  her  window. 

Sometimes  she  longed  to  look  into  the  street,  but  the 
windows  of  her  little  room  were  so  high  that  she  could 
only  see  the  clouds  sailing  by,  or  the  distant  tree  tops 
beyond  the  Arno,  and  if  she  grew  weary  of  looking  at 
the  sky  and  the  distant  hills,  and  went  for  a  change  on 
the  little  balcony  that  opened  into  the  court,  she  saw 
but  a  moss-grown  fountain,  its  basin  full  of  vegetables 
or  soiled  clothes,  and  tired,  di-aggled  women  washing, 
or  nursing  their  cross,  hungry  babies.  The  only  bit  of 
greon,  the  only  pleasant  thing  there,  was  a  stunted  fig- 


^CE. 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


107 


and  iHixiousto  discover 
bIio  had  the  day  before 
to  the  giu'duii  ngaiii ; 
uited  the  hmichbiick's 
her,  for  the  first  time, 

nthor's  house,  watclicl 
all  young  companion- 
!  bright  gay  world,  she 
of  youth,  but  had  lived 
jociety  lier  sad,  strange 
Pia,  who  was  growing 
rew  old ;  and  who  lec- 
f  she  laughed  in  the 
sang  a  snatch  of  a  gay 
heard  from  the  street 

into  the  street,  but  the 
so  high  that  she  could 
3r  the  distant  tree  tops 
iw  weary  of  looking  at 
i  wont  for  a  change  on 
iito  the  court,  she  saw 
lasin  full  of  vegetables 
»gled  women  washing, 
abies.  The  only  bit  of 
lere,  was  a  stunted  fig- 


tree  in  one  corner,  where  a  bird  had  built  its  nest,  nnd 
now,  chirping  and  fluttering  about,  it  fed  its  young  in 
lii'lT}'  i^'l>orauco  of  the  great  bright  world  beyond  those 
fiiiir  dingy  walls. 

At  times  she  longed  again  for  the  little  garden  and 
vineyard  on  San  Miniato,  the  seat  under  the  cypress 
trees,  the  old  convent  garden,  which  was  now  turned 
into  a  cemetery,  and  the  distant  view  of  the  hills,  with 
the  lovely  city  below.  v 

Now  the  only  change  or  pleasure  she  over  enjoyed 
\\;i8  on  these  rare  occasions  when,  closely  veiled  like  a 
nun,  she  went  out  into  the  bright  noisy  street  with  Sig- 
iiora  Pia  to  a  neighboring  church,  or  with  her  father 
to  some  of  the  gardens,  where,  from  a  secluded  spot,  she 
could  SCO  the  trees  and  flowers  and  listen  to  the  sing- 
ing of  the  birds. 

Such  hours  were  like  glimpses  of  Paradise  to  her, 
bIio  was  so  happy  there ;  and  why  could  she  not  go 
often  ?  Why  was  it  that  her  father,  who  loved  her  so 
tenderly,  who  was  so  patient  and  gentle  to  her,  who 
taught  her  all  she  knew,  who  clothed  and  fed  her  so 
daintily,  could  dojiy  her  this  simple  pleasure  that  her 
heart  craved  so  strongly — freedom  and  the  society  of 
human  beings  like  hei-eelf,  young  and  beautiful  and 
happy  ? 

She  had  lived  all  her  life  in  the  company  of  cold, 
dumb  marble  and  clay,  and  had  seen  little  that  waa 


m 


LISA'S  nO}rANCFJ. 


l)fciuitifiil  pavo  hornolf,  and  Hh«  wart  not  nwaro  how 
lovely  hIh!  was,  but  nticoiiHcioualy  admired  lior  own 
fliiirniH  in  tlu-  productions  of  her  father^  goniua. 

That  day  in  the  i^Midt-n,  for  tlio  firrtt  tinus  in  her  life, 
Bho  had  bi'iMi  attracted  to  a  handnonio  living?  face,  and 
it  haunted  her  ineessuntly.  Slic  ?;-.»v  it  before  her, 
wakinj,'  or  tileepiiijj;,  alone  or  with  otherH  ;  it  was  always 
before  her,  and  nhe  could  not  biiiUHh  it. 

To-diiy  was  nfeuf't,  and  she  h;id  hoped,  with  a  trem- 
bliuf,'  hope,  that  her  father  inijj;ht  grant  her  the  pleas- 
m-o  she  bo  ardently  desired,  though  she  did  not  dare  ox- 
press  it,  and  take  her  again  to  the  garden  where  sho 
nii«'ht  800  that  handsome  face  looking  at  her  from  bo- 
hind  the  statue  of  Fauna,  80  sho  waited  anxiously 
for  the  hunchback's  return,  while  the  slow  hours 
seemed  to  drag  pitifully,  for  he  lingered  longer  than 
nsual  on  this  day  when  she  was  most  impatient  for  his 


coming. 


At  length  she  heard  his  step,  and  her  lovely,  wistful 
eyes  sought  his  face  anxiously  as  he  entered,  for  she 
saw  that  something  uncommon  had  happened,  and  that 
he  was  strangely  excited. 

«  What  is  it,  dear  papa  ? "  she  asked  eagerly,  rising 
and  taking  his  hands  tenderly  in  hers,  and  holding  up 
her  face  for  his  accustomed  kiss. 

But  instead  of  the  gentle  caress  sho  had  always  re- 
ceived, he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  pasaionately,  and, 


"^•we^. 


I  ilWllWltwrlfn-M* 


CK. 


its  A' a  nOMANVli. 


ir.9 


wart  not  ftwaro  liow 
sly  luliiiirod  her  own 
fiith(Ji-'H  goiiius. 

0  tii'rtt  tiino  ill  her  life, 
Isoiiio  liviiij^  fiKU!,  nii<l 
lio   "r.iV  it  boforo  lior, 

otliors;  it  was  ivhvivys 
.iiJHh  it. 

ul  hoped,  with  a  trem- 
t  gniiit  her  the  pUiiis- 
l^li  she  did  not  daro  ox- 

1  the  garden  wliero  sho 
H)king  at  her  from  bo- 

uhe  waited  anxiously 
rthilo  tlio  slow  hours 
c  lingered  longer  than 

most  impatient  for  his 

and  her  lovely,  wiatfnl 
•  as  ho  entered,  for  she 
liad  happened,  and  that 

0  aslced  eagerly,  rising 
II  hers,  and  holding  up 

9. 

.ress  she  had  always  re- 
arms pasuionately,  and, 


hiiikiiig  «>n  the  bench  whoro  she  had  been  sitting,  lie 
hell!  her  to  his  liuurt,  sobljln^  and  weeping  in  a  liort  o'. 
delirious  joy. 

Lisa  was  alarmed,  and  disengaging  herself  from  his 
ciiihraco,  siio  cried  :  "  Toll  me,  pray  tell  mo  what  has 
liappencdl  You  weep,  and  yot  you  Bcom  more  joyful 
tiiaii  sorrowful." 

'•  (iod  1)0  thanked  ! "  at  last  said  Hugo,  making  a 
supremo  effort  to  eoiitrol  his  emotion.  "  1  am  over- 
coiiio  with  happiness,  and  I  scarce  know  what  I  say; 
but  God  bo  thanked  that  now  my  desire  is  roalizod. 
ily  fortune  has  come,  and  wo  arc  rich." 

"  Rich,  papa !     What  can  you  mean  ? " 

"  1  mean  that  we  aro  rich,  Lisa.  That  at  last  wealth 
crowns  my  labor,  and  you,  my  lovo,  my  trcasiiro,  shall 
have  it  all.  It  is  for  you,  to  make  you  hajipy.  Wo 
will  go  away  from  here,  away  from  this  great  noisy 
city,  and  find  a  homo  in  a  forest  among  the  hills 
wlicro  no  ono  will  como  to  disturb  us,  and  whero  tho 
llowers  will  always  bloom  and  tho  birds  will  always 
sing." 

"Tell  me,  darling,  for  I  do  not  understand  you. 
What  fortune  has  como  to  you  ?  "  and  she  l(X)ked  into 
her  father's  eyes  with  eager  questioning,  while  sho 
stroked  his  dark  cheek  tenderly. 

"  It  is  ten  thousaud  acudi.    Think  of  it— ten  thou- 
sand acudi !  " 
8 


w.ijriliW'iWrrBjw'i-M«niiiiilMI»iiifrii«: 


170 


LiaA*S  ROMAHfts. 


Is 

k 


"  Madre  di  Die  !  ten  thousand  scudi^''  echoed  the 
girl,  half  alarmed  at  her  father's  strange  excitement, 
and  fearing  that  he  was  no  longer  in  his  right  mind. 
"  Is  it  yonrs  ?    Have  yon  all  that  money  ? " 

"  I  am  to  have  it,  my  angel." 

"  How,  in  what  way,  papa  1 "  cried  Lisa,  more  and 
more  bewildered. 

"I  have  but  just  now  come  from  the  Academia, 
whither  I  went  to  meet  a  rich  Russian  noble,  and  lie 
has  engaged  me  to  make  a  statue  of  Hebe  for  him, 
for  which  lie  is  to  pay  me  ten  thousand  soudi.  Do 
you  understand,  my  child,  that  that  is  a  fortune  to 
us?" 

"Tes,"  she  gasped  breathlefisly.  "Yes,  I  ti.der- 
Btand  that  it  is  a  great  sum  of  money,  and  that  it  will 
make  you  rich  and  famous." 

"And  you  happy,  my  Lisa,  in  our  home  in  the 
forest." 

"But  why  leave  Florence?"  she  said  eagerly. 
"  Wliy  seek  a  home  away  from  our  lovely  Arno  ?  We 
can  find  happiness  here  surely,"  and  she  sighed  as  she 
thouffht  of  the  handsome  face  she  had  seen  in  the 
Torrigiani  garden. 

Her  fathe:  did  not  reply  to  her  question  ;  but  hold- 
ing her  away  from  him  he  gazed  at  her  long  and 
searchingly.  He  was  calm  now  and  there  were  no 
traces  of  sobs  or  tears.     His  sudden    emotion  had 


>usand  acudi^^  echoed  the 
ther'e  strange  excitemeiit, 
longer  in  his  right  mind, 
that  money  ? "    ; 
el." 
a  ? "  cried  Lisa,  more  and 

orae  from  the  Academia, 
ich  Russian  noble,  and  lie 
,  statue  of  Hebe  for  him, 
ten  thousand  sctidi.  Do 
that  that  is  a  fortune  to 

thlefisly.  "  Yes,  I  ti.der- 
of  money,  and  that  it  will 

jisa,  in  our  home  in  the 

ice?"  she  said  eagerly, 
om  our  lovely  Arno  ?  We 
jly,"  and  she  sighed  as  she 
Pace  she  had  seen  in  the 

to  her  question  ;  but  hold- 
le  gazed  at  her  long  and 
»  now  and  there  were  no 
Bis  sudden    emotion  had 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


171 


vanished  and  a  sullen  expression  had  settled  over  his 
dark  features. 

At  length  he  said,  coldly :  "  Have  you  not  always 
wished  for  the  flowers,  and  trees,  and  birds  ?  " 

"  Yes,  papa.  I  love  nature,  and  everything  beautiful 
and  bright." 

"  And  have  you  not  always  entreated  me  to  take 
you  away  from  these  gloomy  rooms  into  the  open  air 
and  sunshine?"  ,?  ^  v     .  v- 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  again,  with  a  little  hesitation  ; 
"  but  we  need  not  leave  Florence  to  find  these,  they 
are  in  all  the  gardens." 

The  hunchback  sighed  heavily,  as  he  drew  her  face 
down  to  his  shoulder  with  motherly  tenderness,  and  as 
he  stroked  the  yellow  threads  of  her  hair  ho  said,  in  a 
voice  of  mingled  sorrow  and  pity  : 

"  My  heart  aches  for  you,  my  child,  because  I  cannot 
make  you  happy  as  you  wish.  It  is  not  trees,  and 
birds,  and  flowers,  and  all  beautiful  things  in  nature 
that  your  hungry  heart  longs  for,  it  is  the  world  with 
its  pomp  and  vanity,  its  falsehoods  and  cruelty,  its 
hollow  joys,  its  certain  sorrow,  its  human  beings, 
young,  happy,  and  beautiful,  that  my  Lisa  desires  and 
loves  ;  and  ner  unfortunate  father  loves  them  not." 

"  Oh  1  papa,  why  should  you  not  love  what  God  has 
created  ? " 

"  My  child,  once  I  adored  my  fellow-creatures.    I 


MiraimMmiiii 


172 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


*| 


.1 


worehipped  their  comeliness.  I  longed  for  their  sym- 
pathy and  affection ;  but,  in  return,  they  gave  me  scorn 
for  my  adoration,  and  loathing  for  my  love ;  they  thrust 
mo  out  from  everything  good ;  they  turned  my  gentle 
nature  into  gall ;  they  taught  me  that  those  whom  God 
afflicts  humanity  does  not  pity,  and  now  I  hate  all  man- 
kind and  regard  them  all  as  my  enemies ;  therefore,  I 
would  hide  my  only  treasure  away  in  the  heart  of  a 
forest,  where  none  can  find  her,  or  rob  mo  of  her." 

"  No  one  can  rob  you  of  nie,  dear  papa.  Wliy  do 
you  speak  of  that  always !  Why  do  you  fear  it  ?  Am 
I  not  your  child,  your  own  Lisa  ?  Then,  who  can  take 
me  from  you  1 " 

The  hunchback  did  not  reply,  but,  trembling  visibly, 
he  started  up  and  began  pacing  the  large  room  with 
rapid  strides. 

Lisa  watched  him  anxiously  for  some  moments,  and 
then,  going  softly  to  him,  she  twined  her  arm  in  his, 
and  raising  her  sweet  face  said  coaxingly :  "  I  have 
vexed  you,  caro  mio.  Forgive  me,  and  kiss  me,  and 
smile  on  me  as  you  do  when  you  love  me." 

Hugo  stooped,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  forehead 
and  cheek  with  sorrowful  fervor,  but  saic.  nothing. 

"  Do  not  be  sad  on  this  day  of  all  others,"  she  con- 
tinued, clinging  to  his  arm,  and,  joining  him  in  his 
walk.  "  It  is  &fe8ta,  and  besides  it  is  the  day  of  your 
good  fortune,  and  we  ought  to  be  very  happy." 


r,j«^Aaaa^aii*8ii»w«K-' 


tANGE. 

I  longed  for  their  syra- 
Btnrn,  they  gave  me  scorn 
;  for  my  love ;  they  thrust 
;  they  turned  my  gentle 
me  that  those  whom  God 
■,  and  now  I  hate  all  mau- 
my  enemies ;  therefore,  I 
I  away  in  the  heart  of  a 
or,  or  rob  mo  of  her." 
me,  dear  papa.  Why  do 
rVhy  do  you  fear  it  ?  Am 
sa  ?     Then,  who  can  take 

>ly,  but,  trembling  visibly, 
cing  the  large  room  with 

[y  for  some  moments,  and 
e  twined  her  arm  in  his, 
said  coaxingly :  "  I  have 
ve  me,  and  kiss  me,  and 
you  love  me." 
I  liis  lips  to  her  forehead 
vor,  but  saic'.  nothing. 
ay  of  all  others,"  she  con- 
,  and,  joining  him  in  his 
isides  it  is  the  day  of  your 
to  bo  very  happy." 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


173 


« It  is  you,  my  darling,  who  are  not  happy,  and  it 
grieves  me  because  I  cannot  make  you  so." 

«  But  you  can,  caro  mio  ;  you  can  make  me  the  hap- 
piest girl  in  Florence.  Do  you  remember  tlat  you 
promised  to  take  me  to  the  garden  on  this  festa  f  It 
is  now  near  the  hour.     Shall  we  go?" 

Her  father  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  noticing 
her  look  of  eager  anxiety,  he  said  reluctantly :  "  If 
you  wish  it  so  much,  I  have  no  heart  to  deny  you. 
Flit  on  your  thickest  veil  and  we  will  go." 

Lisa  darted  away  to  lier  little  chamber,  as  light  and 
radiant  as  a  sunbeam,  and  while  she  was  arraying  her- 
self witli  more  than  usual  care,  Hugo  recounted  his 
good  fortune  to  Signora  Pia,  who  had  returned  in 
time  to  hear  the  welcome  news  before  Vespers,  where 
she  intended  to  go  and  thank  God  devoutly  for  his 
mercy  and  favor  to  her  master. 

When  Lisa  and  her  father  reached  their  accustomed 
seat  near  the  graiiita  tree,  her  first  timid  glance  sought 
the  statue  of  Fauna  to  see  if  the  handsome  face  was 
there;  but  no-much  to  her  disappointment  she 
saw  only  the  waving  branches  and  the  blue  sky  be- 
yond, and  her  heart  sank  heavily,  for  suddenly  it 
seemed  as  though  the  sunlight  was  less  bright,  the  flow- 
ers less  fair  and  fragrant,  and  nature  less  beautiful 
than  she  had  thought  it  when  she  first  entered  the 
garden. 


174 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


The  distant  voices  of  the  crowd,  and  the  merry 
laxighter  of  the  children  sounded  harsh  and  discordant 
on  her  ear,  and  she  almost  wished  that  she  was  iu  the 
silence  and  retirement  of  the  studio,  which  she  had 
found  so  wearisome  in  the  morning. 

Her  father  seemed  absorbed  in  gloomy  reflections, 
perhaps  it  was  a  premonition  of  the  shadow  that  would 
so  soon  fall  upon  his  life,  and  the  poems  of  Tommaso 
GroE.si  were  not  as  sweet  as  thej  had  been  the  day  be- 
fore. It  was  her  first  great  disappointment,  and  she 
could  scarce  restrain  her  tears. 

"After  all,"  she  thought,  as  the  afternoon  wore 
away,  and  the  eagerly-longed-for  face  did  not  appear 
behind  the  statue, "  it  could  not  have  been  a  human 
being.  1  must  have  fancied  I  saw  some  one,  or  it  was 
a  vision,  for  the  face  was  too  beautiful  to  be  real.  Ah  1 
me,  why  did  it  come  to  haunt  mo  forever,  if  1  can  see 
it  no  more  ? " 

At  last,  restless  from  hope  deferred,  she  arose,  and 
leaving  her  book  upon  the  bench,  she  took  her  father's 
arm  and  together  they  strolled  into  a  lonely,  unfrequent- 
ed path,  each  silent  and  absorbed,  each  hoping  and 
dreading  they  scarce  knew  what.  As  they  passed  along 
under  the  overhanging  trees,  some  one  stepped  out  of 
th?  shadow  of  a  thicket  and  walked  away  rapidly  with 
his  finger  on  his  lip  as  if  to  enjoin  silence.  Lisa  had 
but  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  Hugo  saw  him  not,  for  if  he 


'ANGE. 

crowd,  and  the  merry 
led  harsh  and  discordant 
shed  that  she  was  in  the 
B  studio,  which  she  had 
rning. 

;d  in  gloomy  reflections, 
of  the  shadow  that  would 

the  poems  of  Tommaso 
icy  had  been  the  day  be- 
disappointraent,  and  she 
1. 

,  as  the  afternoon  wore 
-for  face  did  not  appear 
not  have  been  a  human 
I  saw  some  one,  or  it  was 
)eautif ul  to  be  real.  Ah ! 
;  mo  forever,  if  1  can  see 

I  deferred,  she  arose,  and 
psnch,  she  took  her  father's 
[  into  a  lonely,  unf  requent- 
(sorbed,  each  hoping  and 
lat.  As  they  passed  along 
some  one  stepped  out  of 
walked  away  rapidly  with 
enjoin  silence.  Lisa  had 
ugo  saw  him  not,  for  if  he 


Llf^AS  ROMANCE. 


176 


had  he  would  have  instantly  recognized  Count  Valdiiner 

NordiskofE. 

But  the  rapid  glance,  the  smile,  the  motion  of  his 
head,  were  all  familiar  to  the  girl.  It  was  the  hand- 
some face  that  had  haunted  her  night  and  day  ever 
since  she  fii-st  saw  it,  and  her  heart  throbbed  so  tumult- 
nously  with  joy  that  she  could  hardly  walk  steadily  or 
control  her  voice  to  reply  to  a  question  her  father  asked 
her  at  that  moment. 

When  they  returned  to  their  seat  the  hunchback  sank 
down  wearily,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  aa 
was  a  habit  with  him,  he  seemed  in  deep  thought  and 
lost  to  all  around  him,  as  though  he  were  revolving 
some  important  question  in  his  mind,  some  subject  that 
required  the  deepest  deliberation. 

Lisa  watched  him  anxiously,  dividing  her  attention 
pretty  equally  between  the  bent  figure  at  her  side  and 
the  battered  statue  of  Fauna  ;  but  her  father  still  re- 
mained silent,  and  the  trees  still  waved  their  fantastic 
arras  against  the  blue  sky,  and  no  warm,  admiring 
glance  met  her  searching  gaze,  that  turned  again  and 
again  hopefully  to  that  spot,  where  her  first  romance 
had  dawned  upon  her. 

At  length  she  took  up  the  neglected  romance  of 
another  life,  and,  turning  the  pages  abstractedly,  a  fold- 
ed Blip  of  paper  attracted  her  notice.  It  was  between 
the  pages  where  she  had  been  reading,  and  suddenly 


mm 


176 


LISA'S  liOMANGE. 


she  Veniornbored  tliat  it  was  not  there  when  she  laid  the 
book  down.  Glancing  at  her  fatlier  to  see  if  she  waa 
obsorvod,  she  unfolded  it  with  trembling  fingers,  and 
read : 

"  I  love  you,  and  I  must  see  yon.  To-morrow,  at  Ave  Maria,  I 
will  be  in  the  Church  of  Sau  Marco,  and  I  shall  look  for  yon  in  the 
Chapel  of  the  Sacrament." 

Bewildered  and  trembling,  she  thrust  the  paper  into 
the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  closing  the  book,  she  said, 
"  Come,  papa,  do  you  know  the  sun  is  nearly  down  ?" 

Hugo  looked  up  like  one  awakening  from  a  dream, 
and,  rising,  he  gave  his  daughter  his  arm  silently,  and 
together  they  walked  away,  absorbed  in  their  own 
thoughts.  Hugo  was  trying  to  find  some  means  of 
evading  the  agreement  ho  had  made  with  Count  Valdi- 
mer,  in  regard  to  his  visiting  his  studio  ;  somo  way  to 
guard  his  treasure  more  closely  until  he  had  completed 
the  statue,  and  then  lie  determined,  in  spite  of  his 
daughter's  objection,  to  find  some  other  home  where 
there  would  be  less  chance  of  his  secret  being  dis- 
covered. 

And  Lisa,  trembling  under  the  burden  of  her  fii-st 
secret,  happy  and  yet  fearful,  her  whole  soul  thrilling 
with  the  joy  the  words  had  given  her,  though  she  only 
half  understood  their  meaning,  was  already  planning 
some  way  by  which  she  might  evade  her  father's 


'ANOE. 

»t  there  when  she  laid  the 
fatlier  to  see  if  she  waa 
li  trembling  fingers,  and 


To-morrow,  at  Ave  Maria,  I 
and  I  shall  look  for  yon  in  the 


she  thrust  the  paper  into 

osing  the  boolc,  she  said, 

3  sun  is  nearly  down  ?" 

wakening  from  a  dream, 

iter  his  arm  silently,  and 

absorbed  in  their  own 

to  find  some  means  of 

t  made  with  Count  Valdi- 

his  studio  ;  somo  way  to 

y  until  he  had  completed 

ermined,  in  spite  of  his 

some  other  home  where 

of  his  secret  being  dis- 

r  the  burden  of  her  fii-st 
,  her  whole  soul  thrilling 
Lven  her,  though  she  only 
ig,  was  already  planning 
light  evade  her  father's 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


177 


watchful  eyes,  so  that  she  could  meet  her  hero  of  ro- 
iiiance,  as  he  had  requested,  in  the  Church  of  San 
Marco  at  Ave  Maria  the  next  day. 

Her  first  thought  on  awakening  the  next  moming 
was  of  the  communication  she  had  received,  and  the 
means  to  be  used  to  gain  permission  from  her  father 
to  go  without  him  to  Vespers.  Occasionally  he  had 
allowed  her  to  accompany  Signora  Pia,  but  not  often, 
and  she  feared  to  express  a  wish  in  that  direction,  lost 
it  might  excite  his  suspicion,  which  seemed  strangely 
alive  at  this  time  to  any  indication  of  preference  on 

her  part. 

If  Signora  Pia  would  only  proix)se  it,  it  would 
render  the  matter  easy  ;  but  the  morning  passed  away 
without  the  pious  woman  making  any  allusion  to  the 
church  services,  and  Lisa  saw  the  hour  approach  with 
terrible  anxiety  and  uncertainty. 

Her  father  had  already  begun  his  new  order,  and 
the  statue  of  Hebe,  though  but  a  shapeless  mass  of 
clay  behind  the  red  curtain  where  Hugo  worked,  was 
nevertheless  a  commencement,  and  for  the  time  ab- 
sorbed all  his  attention. 

Lisa  sat  with  her  erabroideiy  at  the  feet  e£  Apollo, 
and  watched  the  shadows  on  the  floor  grow  longer  and 
longer  with  a  trembling,  fainting  heart,  when  suddenly 
Signora  Pia  laid  aside  her  knitting,  and  taking  her 
veil  and  shawl,  she  declared  her  intention  of  going  to 
8* 


'1     ' 


178 


LISA'S  BOMANCB. 


Vespers  ;  as  she  was  leaving  the  room  she  tnmed  and 

said:  1  n  J 

«  Slgnorina,  have  you  been  to  chnrch  to  thank  God 

for  His  goodness  to  yonr  father  % " 

«  No,  Signora,  I  have  not  yet  been,"  replied  Lisa, 
trembling  with  impatience  to  hoar  her  next  rou\ark. 

« Then  pnt  on  yonr  veil  and  eome  with  me  to  San 
Marco;  for  it  is  not  well  to  forget  God  in  our  pros- 
perity." 

The  girl  did  not  wait  for  a  second  bidding;  and 
when  they  entered  the  gloomy  old  church,  instead  of 
following  Signora  Pia  to  the  high   altar  where  the 
lamps  were  burning,  she  slipped  into  the  chapel  of  the 
Sacrament    It  was  empty  and  in  deep  shadow.     Fall- 
xa<r  on  her  knees  and  covering  her  face,  she  tried  to 
priy,  but  in  vain  ;  her  thoughts  would  not  soar  above 
earth  and  earthly  desires.    While  she  murmured  Ave 
Maria  with  her  trembling  lips,  she  was  listening  for  a 
footstep  on  the  marble  pavement,  and  in  a  moment  it 
came.    Without  raising  her  head  she  was  awa-e  that 
some  one  entered  the  chapel  and  knelt  before  the  altar 

by  her  side. 

Her  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  for  an  instant;  and 
then  suddenly  it  throbbed  so  heavily  that  she  felt  as 
though  she  were  suffocating.  She  did  not  move,  and 
the  new-comer  did  not  speak  ;  was  he  praying  silently 
or  was  he  waiting  for  her  to  give  some  signs  of  life  ? 


LISA'S  ROMANCE. 


170 


ANCB. 

the  room  she  tnmed  and 

to  chnrch  to  thank  God 

jrl" 

yet  been,"  replied  Lisa, 
hoar  her  next  voinivvk. 
,nd  eonie  with  me  to  San 
forget  God  in  our  pros- 

■  a  second  bidding;  and 
ny  old  church,  instead  of 
10  high   altar  where  the 
ped  into  the  chapel  of  the 
id  in  deep  shadow.     Fall- 
ing her  face,  she  tried  to 
^hts  would  not  soar  above 
While  she  murmured  Ave 
ips,  she  was  listening  for  a 
iment,  and  in  a  moment  it 
f  head  she  was  awa^e  that 
and  knelt  before  the  altar 

id  still  for  an  instant ;  and 
so  heavily  that  she  felt  as 
J.  She  did  not  move,  and 
k  ;  was  he  praying  silently 
)  give  some  signs  of  life  ? 


She  could  endure  this  uncertainty  no  longer,  lifting 
her  head  from  the  railing  and  softly  drawing  her  veil 
aside,  she  glanced  around  timidly,  and  there  she  saw 
near  her,  absorbed  in  deep  devotion,  not  her  hero  of 
loinance,  but  Siguora  Pia,  who  had  followed  her  and 
was  praying  devoutly  with  clasped  hands  and  chased 

eyes. 

Was  she  to  suffer  a  second  disappointment  ?  If  so, 
slie  felt  that  she  could  hardly  endure  it,  but  just  as  she 
was  about  despairing  another  poreon  came  in  softly  and 
knelt  on  her  other  side.  This  time  tliere  could  bo  no 
mistake,  for  she  felt  that  it  was  he  without  seeing  him. 
An  electric  thrill  seemed  to  run  through  every  fibre  of 
lier  frame,  as  he  murmured  in  a  low  tone  some  words 
that  Signora  Pia  must  have  thought  to  be  a  prayer, 
for  she  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  intrusion,  so  absorbed 
was  she  in  her  own  devotions. 

For  perhaps  five  minutes  they  knelt  there  side  by 
side,  outwardly  as  still  as  statues,  then  Count  Valdi- 
mer,  softly  reaching  forward,  slipped  a  folded  paper 
into  Lisa's  trembling  flugere,  and  with  a  gentle  pres- 
sure of  her  hand  rose  from  his  knees  and  went  out  as 
quietly  as  he  had  entered. 

Signora  Pia,  her  devotions  ended,  laid  her  hand  on 
the  girl's  shoulder  who  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in 
prayer,  and  said  gently : 
"Come,  my  child,  you  have  remained  here  long 


r  If 


180 


AH  EVENING  AT  THE  OPIHRA. 


enough,  and  God  must  ])0  well  ple-wod  with  your  flii\- 
cero  piety.     It  is  lato  and  your  father  will  bo  anxious. 

Let  us  go." 

Silently  Lisa  rose  from  her  knees,  holding  the  note 
close  to  her  heart,  and  followed  the  old  woman  out 
into  the  lighted  church,  whore  the  penitent  and  sinful 
Btill  lingered  and  prayed. 


CllAl'TEU  XIL 


AN   EVENING   AT  TUB  OPERA. 

RT  was  the  fashionable  opera  night  at  La  Per- 
gola, and  thousands  were  rushing  in  to  hear 
a  new  prima  donna  in  "  La  Favor ita."  The 
royal  box  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  hung  with  orim- 
Bon  satin  studded  with  gold,  while  a  cro^x  n  of  flowerB 
depended  from  the  ceiling,  and  garlands  and  bouquets 
made  it  look  almost  like  a  rural  bower.  The  Grand 
Duke  and  his  suite,  in  their  brilliant  uniforms-,  sat  under 
the  odorous  coronet,  talking  and  laughing  gayly,  when 
the  sweet,  thrilling  voice  of  t\\ej>ri?na  donna  did  not 
claim  their  attention. 

On  the  right  of  the  royal  party  was  another  box, 
scarcely  inferior  in  size  and  brilliancy  of  decoration, 


TIIK  OPLIRA. 

II  ploiiRod  with  your  aiii- 
ir  father  will  bo  anxious. 

knees,  holding  the  note 
wed  the  old  woman  out 
0  the  penitent  and  sinful 


AN  KVENINQ  AT  THE  OPKRA. 


181 


[I   XII. 


THE  OPERA. 


5  opera  night  at  La  Per- 
i  were  rushing  in  to  hear 
I  in  "  La  Favorita."  The 
ited,  and  hung  with  crim- 
while  a  crow  n  of  flowers 
,nd  garlands  and  bouquets 
rural  bower.  The  Grand 
rilliant  uniforms-,  sat  under 
and  laughing  gayly,  when 
i\\Qjprima  donna  did  not 

il  party  was  another  box, 
i  brilliancy  of  decoration, 


and  in  it  sat  the  Duchess  of  Cantollara,  surrounded  by 
tho  most  distinguished  men  in  Florence. 

Time  hail  dealt  kindly  with  her,  and  though  she  was 
M(.  longer  young,  she  was  still  considered  tho  most 
lovely  woman  in  Italy,  for  the  fame  of  her  beauty  had 
spread  beyond  her  native  city,  and  wherever  she  went 
«lio  was  surrounded  by  a  train  of  admirers  selected 
fn.m  tho  hcaux  >  sprits  of  society. 

iSlio  hod  never  looked  moro  beautiful  than  she  did 
on  this  night,  llcr  dres?,  apalo  green  satin,  set  off  tlio 
rare  pallor  of  her  skin,  which  was  as  white  as  tho  petal 
of  a  lily,  save  where  a  delicate  flush  cumo  and  wont  on 
bt-r  8t)ftly  rounded  cheek.  Her  eyes,  under  their  long, 
dark  laches,  seemed  to  glow  and  burn  like  deep  fires, 
unextinguished  by  time  or  tears,  and  tho  rich  gold  of 
)ier  hair  had  lost  none  of  its  burnished  lustre,  while  a 
tender  smile,  strangely  sweet,  and  almost  happy,  trem- 
bled from  time  to  time  around  her  lovely  mouth. 

She  was  listening  to  some  low-spoken  words  from 
Valdimer  Nordiskoff,  who  sat  behind  her  chair,  his 
handsome  head  close  to  hers,  and  his  fine  eyes  studying 
her  face  admiringly. 

«  There,  that  will  do,"  she  said  at  length,  tapping 
him  reprovingly  with  her  fan,  "you  have  monopolized 
me  quite  long  enough,  and  Baron  Loder  is  greou  with 

jealousy." 

«  Bahl  let  tho  heavy  German  wait ;  he  is  slow  enough 


"^l- 


itt  AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 

to  tarry  any  length  of  timo  for  a  wo'd  or  a  lo<jk,  and 
will  go  away  (tontcnted  it'  ho  is  rowardod  with  a  emile 
at  the  end  of  tho  eveinng." 

"  Not  bo;  1  wish  to  talk  with  h'ni.  He  is  very  enter- 
taining and  original,  and  his  realistic  viows  of  things 
arc  quite  refreshing." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  banish  ine  to  the  far  corner  of  your 
l)ox,  where  I  uau  only  bite  my  lips  in  vexation  and 
envy  ? " 

"  Valdiiner,"  and  she  lowered  her  voice  to  a  more 
confidential  tone,  "  you  vvfil  know  how  pleasant  your 
pretty  speeches  are  to  me,  you  know  your  power,  and 
you  must  not  abuse  it,  if  at  times  you  surprise  me  into 
being  truthful.  To-night,  for  some  unexj)kinablo  rea- 
son, I  feel  almost  happy  ;  my  heart  goes  out  to  you  with 
a  warm,  true  friendship,  and  I  would  rather  have  you 
by  my  side  than  any  other  person  in  the  world." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him  earnestly,  flushing  a 
little  as  though  she  had  saii  too  much,  and  then 
waited  for  him  to  speak,  or  to  answer  her  with  his  elo- 
quent eyes. 

But  instead  of  meeting  the  grateful,  happy  glance 
that  she  expected  after  her  heartfelt  expression,  she 
noticed  that  he  looked  away,  as  if  embarrassed,  and 
hesitated  slightly  before  he  replied  : 

"  Thanks,  Elena,  for  your  sweet  words,  which,  if  you 
are  sincere,  make  me  the  happiest  of  mortals." 


THE  OPKRA. 


For  a  wed  or  a  look,  and 
is  rownrdod  with  a  smile 

;h  h'Mi.   lie  is  very  ontor- 
realistic  viows  of  things 

0  to  the  far  corner  of  your 
my  lipu  ill  vexation  and 


ored  her  voice  to  a  more 
know  how  pleasant  your 
m  know  your  power,  and 
imes  you  Burpriso  me  into 
»r  some  unexi)kinable  rea- 
heart  goes  out  to  you  with 
i  I  would  rather  have  you 
erson  in  the  world." 

him  earnestly,  flushing  a 
;aii  too  much,  and  then 
to  answer  her  with  his  elo- 


;he  grateful,  happy  glance 
heartfelt  expression,  she 
ly,  as  if  embarrassed,  and 
replied : 

sweet  words,  which,  if  you 
bppiest  of  mortals." 


■< 

'* 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


L 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


1 


W 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


183 


«  Can  you  donbt  my  sincerity,  Valdimer  ?  Am  I  one 

to  speak  lightly  ?" 

«  Bnt  you  have  spoken  so  differently  for  four  years, 
that  I  have  despaired  of  ever  inspiring  any  warmer 
feeling  in  your  heart  than  that  of  ordinary  friendship." 

«  A°nd  yet  you  have  always  been  contented  with  my 
friendship,  at  least  you  have  professed  to  be,  and  you 
have  assured  me  over  and  over,  that  you  would  rather 
possess  my  esteem  than  the  most  ardent  love  of  any 

otlier  woman." 

"Yes,  Duchess,  I  have  repeated  those  words  many 
times,  and  1  meant  them  ;  but  pardon  me,  now,  if  I 
eay  that  the  human  heart  cannot  rest  forever  satisfied 
with  only  professions,  and  platonic  affection,  which  is 
but  the  cold,  pale  shadow  of  love." 

A  light  shiver  passed  over  the  Duchess,  and  her  voice 
Bank  so  low  that  it  only  seemed  a  murmur  to  the  others 
in  the  box.  "Valdimer,  I  do  not  quite  understand 
yon.    You  surely  are  not  weary  of  waiting." 

"Not  if  I  could  see  an  end  to  my  torment,  a  ter- 
mination to  my  martyrdom." 

"But  it  will  come  some  time,"  said  the  Duchess 
with  an  uneasy  look,  a  strange,  restless  light  in  her 
eyes  «  He  is  old,  and  he  cannot  live  forever.  Valdi- 
mer, you  forget  that  the  Duke  is  nearly  thirty  years 
older  than  I  am.  Naturally  I  shall  be  free  from  my 
bondage  before  many  years." 


lillilWWWItimTOIWaWf'^^"^^^ ' 


184 


AN  BVENINO  AT  THE  OPERA. 


"  Hush,  Duchess,  I  pray  you.  I  canr.ot  endure  to 
specnlato  on  a  happiness  built  upon  another's  grave." 

"  But  you  could  endure  it  if  you  hated  him  as  I  do,  if 
you  had  waited,  and  watched,  and  counted  the  weary 
years  away  as  I  have." 

"  Poor  Elena ! "  said  Valdimer  with  gentle  pity,  as  a 
look  of  anguish  swept  for  a  moment  over  her  face. 
"  Your  life  is  indeed  a  bitterdi8appointment,and  your 
struggle  with  yourself  a  noble  one.  I  love  you,  1  ad- 
mire you,  God  only  knows  how  deeply,  for  many  a 
woman  would  have  cast  off  all  the  fetters  of  duty,  all 
the  obligations  due  society  and  friends,  and  taken  un- 
lawfully the  freedom  and  happiness  which  a  cruel  des- 
tiny had  denied  her." 

"  Valdimer,  you  know  I  have  done  right  in  spite  of 
the  evil  tongue  of  the  world ;  you  applaud  my  tirra 
resolves,  my  moral  courage,  my  self-sacrifice,  and  yet 
you  have  not  the  strength  and  patience  to  wait  with  me 
for  the  end." 

"Do  not  accuse  me,  Elena,  of  a  lack  of  patience  and 
strength.  God  knows  I  have  not  failed  in  either.  I 
have  been  faithful  and  long-suffering." 

*'  But  you  are  weary  now  ? "  said  the  Duchess,  look- 
ing sadly  at  him. 

'*■  I  did  not  say  I  was  weary.    No,  I  could  still  en- 
dure if  there  was  any  hope." 
"But  there  is  the  same  hope,  Valdimer,"  replied  the 


a 
n 
s< 
a: 

S 

Ul 

tl 
f( 
al 
fc 
al 


OPERA. 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


185 


[  caiiriot  endure  to 

another's  grave." 

lated  him  as  I  do,  if 

counted  the  weary 

ith  gentle  pity,  as  a 
lent  over  her  face, 
ointment,  and  your 
I  love  you,  1  ad- 
eeply,  for  many  a 
fetters  of  duty,  all 
nds,  and  taken  im- 
which  a  cruel  des- 

e  right  in  spite  of 

applaud  my  firm 

-sacrifice,  and  yet 

ice  to  wait  with  me 

ck  of  patience  and 
iled  in  either.     I 

> 

tlie  Duchess,  look- 


I  could  still  en- 


imer,"  replied  the 


Duchess  with  a  low  thrill  of  happiness  in  her  voice, 
and  a  warm  flush  on  her  cheek.  "  Only  to-day  I  have 
tliought  and  dreamed  of  it,  as  I  never  have  before.  I 
know  not  why,  but  Bome  new  life,  some  new  confidence 
has  taken  possession  of  me,  and  I  feel  that  I  may  yet 
be  happy,  that  1  may  yet  be  your  wife,  if  only  you  are 
patient  and  faithful.  I  have  been  a  cold,  vain,  cruel 
woman,  and  my  life  so  far  has  been  a  bitter  failure, 
but  it  is  not  too  late  to  redeem  the  past.  I  will  be  bet- 
ter, more  gentle,  more  womanly.  I  will  try  and  kill 
my  anger  and  hate  for  those  who  wronged  me  so.  I 
will  endeavor  to  obtain  pardon  from  God  for  my 
anger  against  my  father,  who  died  without  my  forgive- 
ness ;  I  will  change  ray  manner  of  life,  I  will  think  of 
something  besides  fashion  and  folly,  and  you  shall  love 
and  esteem  me  more  than  ever  before." 

Count  Valdimer  looked  with  wonder  at  the  Duchess. 
She  seemed  to  him  a  revelation,  a  new  being — she, 
usually  so  cold,  so  proud,  so  reticent,  to  become  so  gen- 
tle and  womanly  and  almost  humble  in  her  affection 
for  him.  What  could  have  wrought  the  change  ?  and 
at  the  very  time,  too,  when  he  was  less  devoted,  less  af- 
fectionate than  he  had  ever  been  since  he  laid  his  heart 
at  her  feet.  As  he  looked  into  her  flushed,  happy  face 
and  beaming  eyes,  he  felt  the  guiltiest  of  traitors,  for 
had  he  not  been  dreaming  and  thinking  night  and  day 
of  another ;  had  he  not  been  trying  by  every  means  to 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


seo  his  new  charmer,  to  pour  into  her  innocent  young 
heart  the  story  of  his  love,  a  love  that  he  had  already 
pledged  solemnly  to  another,  and  which,  in  honor  and 
truth,  as  a  gentleman,  he  was  hound  to  respect  as  some- 
thing more  sacred  than  an  ordinary  intrigue  with  a 
woman  of  fashion.  The  Duchess  of  Castellara,  the 
proud,  the  beautiful,  the  courted  Duchess,  really  loved 
hin),  had  really  given  him  her  heart  in  all  sincerity,  and 
with  womanly  confidence  was  patiently  waiting  nntil 
God  removed  the  barrier  between  them  to  become  his 
happy,  honored  wife. 

And  now  that  the  consximtnation  he  had  desired  so 
long  and  that  he  had  sworn  a  thousand  times  was  the 
dearest,  the  most  sacred  wish  of  his  heart,  was,  by  her 
own  confession,  possibly  to  be  realized,  he  shrnnk  from  it 
with  a  guilty  consciousness  of  deception  and  dishonor. 
Another,  a  young,  unknown  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  poor 
deformed  artist,  had  won  his  treacherous  heart  away 
from  the  noble,  beautiful  woman  at  his  side,  and  he 
was  overwhelmed  with  contrition  and  shame. 

While  the  Duchess  was  waiting  for  him  to  reply  to 
her  earnestly-spoken  words,  and  while  his  thoughts 
were  wandering  in  this  labyrinth  of  self -con  tempt, 
doubt,  and  regret,  he  raised  his  eyes  accidentally  to  a 
small  box  in  the  third  tier,  usually  occupied  by  the 
middle  class  of  well-to-do  Florentines,  and  there  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  face,  a  young,  angelic  face 


'E  OPERA. 

hei"  innocent  young 
that  he  had  already 
which,  in  honor  and 
nd  to  respect  as  somc- 
iiary  intrigue  with  a 
ss  of  Castellara,  the 
Duchess,  really  loved 
,rt  in  all  sincerity,  and 
itiently  waiting  until 
1  them  to  become  his 

ju  he  had  desired  so 
nsand  times  was  the 
lis  heart,  was,  by  her 
zed,  he  shrunk  from  it 
^option  and  dishonor, 
the  daughter  of  a  poor 
iacherous  heart  away 
at  his  side,  and  he 
and  shame, 
g  for  him  to  reply  to 
1  while  his  thoughts 
th  of  self -con  tempt, 
syes  accidentally  to  a 
ally  occupied  by  the 
jntines,  and  there  he 
.  young,  angelic  face 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


187 


framed  in  masses  of  pale  yellow  hair,  that  instantly 
changed  the  current  of  his  thoughts  and  brought  him 
back  to  the  emergency  of  the  moment. 

The  Duchess,  by  a  singular  chance,  raised  her  eyes 
at  the  same  moment,  and  she  too  saw  for  an  instant  a 
face  that  touched  a  long  silent  chord  in  her  heart.  A 
swift  pallor  passed  over  her  cheek,  aiid  the  hand  that 
held  her  jewelled  fan  trembled  visibly,  while  Valdimer 
started  so  suddenly  and  colored  so  vividly  that  she  at 
once  noticed  his  agitation,  although,  with  the  ready  tact 
of  a  quick-witted  woman,  she  resolved  not  to  appear  to 
observe  him  ;  but  she  remembered  the  face  for  more 
tlian  one  reason,  and  when  she  saw  it  again,  she  looked 
at  it  with  different  eyes,  and  different  etnotions,  for 
her  soul  was  a  prey  to  jealousy,  hate,  and  revenge, 
and  she  would  willingly  have  annihilated  the  innocent 
object  of  her  contempt  with  one  haughty  glance  of 
her  eyes. 

Happily  for  both  Valdimer  and  the  Duchess,  at 
that  moment  the  prima  donna  began  an  aria,  and  in 
spite  of  their  deep  emotion  they  could  not  refrain  from 
listening,  or  at  least  appearing  to;  but  in  reality  both 
were  making  a  supreme  effort  to  recover  their  calm- 
ness and  self-control. 

"  Do  you  see  the  Duke  in  the  opposite  box  glaring 
at  lis  ? "  asked  Valdimer,  as  the  last  sweet  notes  of  the 
song  died  on  the  perfumed  air. 


>mmm* 


188 


AN  EYENINO  AT  THE  OPERA. 


"YcB,  I  800  him,"  returned  tho  Dnchoss,  in  her 
nsnal  cahu  voice ;  "  but  it  does  not  disturb  me,  I  am 
accnstoined  to  it." 

"lie  notices  that  our  conversation  has  been  moro 
confidential  than  is  judicious  in  public,  and  ho  is 
irritated." 

"  Since  yon  have  suddenly  become  so  prudent,  had 
you  not  better  give  your  chair  to  the  Baron  ?  I  am 
sure  you  have  kept  him  waiting  quite  long  enough," 
said  the  Duchess,  in  her  iciest  tones. 

"  There  you  mistake  me,  Duchess,"  replied  Valdi- 
mcr,  with  some  annoyance.  "  I  am  not  needlessly 
prudent,  I  can  assure  yon,  for  the  Duke  has  been  in  a 
very  bad  humor  lately.  He  has  insulted  me  several 
times  recently  in  public,  and  I  have  endured  it  rather 
than  quarrel  with  him." 

"  Thank  you,  how  considerate  1 "  returned  the  Duch- 
ess, haughtily.  "  I  pray  that  you  will  not  deny  your- 
self satisfaction  on  my  account." 

"  That  is  enough,  Elena.  1  will  remember  what  you 
have  said,"  and  Valdimer,  rising,  bent  over  her  so  low 
that  no  one  could  hear  his  words.  "  You  are  an  enig- 
ma to  mo.  A  moment  ago  you  wore  a  woman,  now 
yon  are  the  Duchess  of  Oastellara,  so  I  will  wish  you 
good-evening,  and  give  my  seat  to  some  one  more  for- 
tunate than  myself." 

The  Duchess  did   not  raise  the  long  lashes  that 


IE  OPERA. 

tho  Dnchess,  in  her 
lot  disturb  me,     I  am 

ation  has  been  more 
11   public,  and  he  is 

some  BO  prudent,  had 
to  the  Baron  ?    I  am 
quite  long  enough," 
les. 

liess,"  replied  Valdi- 
[  am  not  needlessly 
e  Duke  has  been  in  a 
insulted  me  several 
kve  endured  it  rather 

"  returned  the  Duch- 

I  will  not  deny  your- 

II  remember  what  you 
bent  over  her  so  low 

"  You  are  an  enig- 

were  a  woman,  now 

a,  so  I  will  wish  you 

o  some  one  more  for- 

the  long  lashes  that 


■"'  '\~ 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  QPEILi. 


189 


rested  on  her  pale  cheeks,  but  bowed  coldly  to  Valdi- 
nior,  as  she  turned  to  welcome  the  Gorman  Baron  who 
slipped  into  the  Count's  seat  the  moment  he  vacated 
it. 

"  I  thought  your  friend  was  about  to  monopolize  you 
for  the  evening,  Duchess.  I  waited  patiently  for 
Nordiskoff  to  go,  so  tliat  I  might  have  a  word  with  you, 
and  before  I  could  get  to  your  side,  that  great  German 
itear  slipped  into  the  place  I  was  dying  to  reach." 

The  speaker  was  Enrico,  as  handsome  and  kind  as 
ever,  though  he  was  no  longer  the  ardent,  hot-headed 
youth,  who,  in  the  beginning  of  our  story,  had  sworn 
eternal  devotion  to  his  sweet  cousin.  lie  was  now  a 
grave,  quiet  man,  of  a  singularly  pure  life  and  noble 
character,  and  none  the  less  the  devoted  friend  and  ad- 
viser of  the  Duchess. 

"Yon  are  always  welcome,  cousin,  and  Heaven 
knows  I  would  much  rather  have  had  you  here  this 
last  hour,  for  I  have  been  wearied  to  death  with  the 
senseless  chatter  of  one  and  another,"  said  the  Duch- 
ess, ki'ily  giving  him  her  hand. 

"  Wii^;  ■■■,  you  do  not  mean  to  tell  me  that  Lodei-'s 
grave,  deliberate  words,  and  Valdimer's  confidential 
talk  was  all  senseless  chatter?"  asked  Enrico,  leaning 
over  her  chair  and  fixing  his  eyes  earnestly  on  her  face. 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  Loder  is  sensible  enough,  but  to- 


,j-- 


If 


190 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


iiiglit  he  iias  nlinoat  put  me  to  aloop,  and  Valdimor 
wuB  BO  grave  and  abstracted  that  ho  annoyed  mo,  and 
I  showed  it,  BO  ho  loft  mo  in  a  bad  liunior,  and  that 
spoiled  everything  ;  even  the  voice  of  tho prima  dotma 
Bonnded  liarsh  and  discordant  uftorward.  Enrico,  I 
BometimcB  think  that  I  have  an  evil  spii'it  in  me, 
that  forces  mo  to  bo  cruel  and  cold  and  haughty  when 
I  most  want  to  be  womanly  and  gentle.  I  came  to 
the  opera  to-night  light-hearted  and  happy,  which  is  a 
now  experience  with  mo  ;  but  a  little  thing,  a  simple 
thing,  brought  back  my  evil  spirit,  and  I  have  lost  all 
the  good  I  gained." 

"  May  I  ask  what  caused  your  vexation,  Elena  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  cousin ;  you  know  I  always  open  my 
heart  to  you  as  I  do  to  no  other,  and  I  have  never  con- 
cealed from  you  my  affection  for  Nordiskoff."  A 
pained,  anxious  expression  passed  over  Enrico's  face, 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  the  Duchess  went  on: 
"  Lately,  I  have  had  the  faintest  suspicion  that  he  is 
growing  weary  with  hope  deferred,  and  tired  of  the 
nameless  bond  between  us.  O  Enrico !  this  waiting 
for  dead  men's  shoes  is  something  terrible." 

"  Oh,  Duchess !  for  Heaven's  sake  do  not  speak  so 
lightly  on  such  a  subject.  How  can  you  thus  count 
away  the  days  of  Castellara's  life  ?  He  is  an  old  man, 
it  is  true,  but  he  may  outlive  you  for  all  that." 

"  Why  does  my  remark  seem  to  shock  you,  Enrico  f 


HE  OPERA. 


AN  EVENING  AT  TUB  OPERA. 


191 


t  aleop,  and  Valdimer 
b  lio  annoyed  mo,  and 

bad  liunior,  and  that 
ce  of  i\\o  2>i'iina  donna 
afterward.  Enrico,  I 
an  evil  spirit  in  mo, 
old  and  haughty  wliou 
id  gentle.  I  camo  to 
and  happy,  which  is  a 

little  thing,  a  simple 
rit,  and  I  have  lost  all 

vexation,  Elena  ? " 

iw  I  always  open  my 

and  I  have  never  con- 

for  Nordiskoff."      A 

3d  over  Enrico's  face, 

0  Ihichess  went  on: 
It  suspicion  that  he  is 
rred,  and  tired  of  the 
Enrico!  this  waiting 
g  terrible." 

sake  do  not  speak  so 
7  can  you  thus  count 
B  ?    He  is  an  old  man, 

1  for  all  that." 

to  shock  you,  Enrico  f 


Have  I  over  made  any  socrot  of  my  hate  fc^r  the  man, 
that  was  forced  upon  ino  by  the  vilest  deception — of 
my  hope  that  God  would  one  day  free  mo  from  a 
bond  that  I  have  endured  as  well  as  I  could?  I  never 
professed  the  least  affection  or  esteem  for  Cjistellara. 
lie  is  my  husband  only  in  name.  Then  why  should  I 
conceal  from  you  my  desire  to  bo  froo  from  him,  that 
I  may  l)ecoino  the  wife  of  the  man  I  love?" 

"  Aro  you  sure,  Elena,  that  you  love  Nordiskoff — 
that  you  would  become  his  wife  if  you  were  free  ?  " 

"  Quito  sure,  and  it  is  my  dearest  wish ;  but  who 
knows  M  hether  it  will  ever  bo  realized  ? " 

"  Pray,  do  not  dwell  upon  such  a  thought.  It  is 
wrong,  my  dear  cousin.  Trust  the  future  to  God,  and 
do  your  duty  for  the  present,  leaving  Nordiskoff  en- 
tirely out  of  the  question." 

"  How  can  that  be,  since  I  care  for  him,  and  suffer 
to  see  him  wasting  his  youth  in  such  a  hopeless  love." 

"  That  is  it,  cousin  ;  you  wrong  him,  and  you  wrong 
yourself." 

"  Good  Heavens  1  Enrico,  would  you  advise  me  to 
give  him  up  I  " 

"  I  would.     It  is  best  for  you  that  yon  should." 

"  Ah  1  those  are  the  same  words  you  said  six  years 
ago,  in  regard  to  my  friendship  for  the  Duke  do  Beau- 
mont, and  I  listened  to  you  then.  I  gave  him  up.  1 
sent  him  back  to  France  half  broken-hearted,  for  the 


iWliiM 


IM 


AN  KVENlNa  AT  TUE  OPKHA. 


poor  follow  really  lovod  mo ;  but  it  cowt  mo  iiotlilnj^  to 
Bepunito  from  him,  for  my  heart  waa  not  the  luntit  in- 
volved. I  never  cared  for  him,  and  I  did  It  to  pleaBO 
you,  and  Bilenue  the  venomous  tongue  of  the  world ; 
but  thiu  is  another  matter.  I  lovo  Valdimcr,"  and  the 
Duchess,  overcome  by  hor  feelings,  brushed  a  tear 
from  off  her  burning  cheek,  and  turned  hor  head  away 
tliat  no  one  could  witness  her  emotion. 

"  When  did  you  see  tho  Duko  last  ?  "  asked  Enrico, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  I  do  not  remember.  I  think  I  have  not  spoken  to 
him  for  some  months,  and  ho  certainly  has  not  entered 
my  box  for  a  number  of  weeks." 

"  Do  you  800  nothing  portentous  in  his  avoiding  you 
80  continually  in  public  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  it.  I  know  that  he  has  been 
constantly  in  tho  society  of  Ferdinand's  discarded  mis- 
tress, who  has  gone  over  to  the  other  party  and  is 
working  against  her  former  lover,  and  that  on  account 
of  this  Castellara  has  lost  tho  favor  of  his  Uigh 
ness." 

"  Then  you  had  not  heard  that  Ferdinand  dismissed 
tho  Duke  from  his  service  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  I  had  not,  and  if  it  is  trae  I  rejoice,  for  I  have 
spared  no  pains  to  ruin  him  with  tho  Grand  Duke." 

"  Elena,  pray  do  not  bo  so  vindictive.  He  is  an  old 
man  and  this  dishonor  maddens  him ;  ho  knows  that, 


UN  OfKHA. 

;  It  ami  mo  notliing  to 
vvuH  nut  tlio  lunat  in- 
nud  I  did  it  to  ploaBU 
toiiguo  of  tlio  world ; 
0  Vtildimcr,"  and  the 
ing8,  brushed  a  tear 
turned  lioi*  houd  away 
otion. 
last  ?  "  askod  Enrico, 

:  I  have  not  spoken  to 
tainly  has  not  entered 

13  in  his  avoiding  you 

snow  that  he  has  been 
inand's  discarded  mis- 
le  other  party  and  is 
r,  and  that  on  account 
favor  of  his  Uigh- 

Ferdinand  dismissed 

3  I  rejoice,  for  I  have 
the  Grand  Duke." 
lictive.     He  is  an  old 
him ;  he  knows  that, 


AN  BVENINO  AT  THE  OPERA. 


103 


in  a  measure,  it  is  your  work  and  he  is  desperate,  and 
will  revenge  himself  on  Nordiskoff." 

A  dreadful  pallor  passed  over  the  face  of  the 
DiKihoss,  but  she  said  bravely,  "  I  do  not  fear  him.  I 
iiivo  heard  his  threats  before." 

"  lie  will  insult  Valdimcr  and  force  him  to  fight." 

"  As  ho  thrcatened  to  do  with  the  Duko  do  Beau- 
mont." 

"  It  is  different  now ;  he  is  a  disgraced  man,  and  he 
has  nothing  to  lose." 

A  vindictive  joy  sparkled  in  the  Duchess's  eyes,  and 
her  voice  had  a  ring  of  triumph  in  it  as  she  exclaimed : 
"  I  have  kept  my  vow.  1  swore  to  bo  revenged  on 
CostcUara  for  my  ruined  life,  and  at  last  I  see  my 
hour  drawing  near.  Who  knows  but  that  this  may  be 
the  end  of  my  bondage  ?  for  if  he  challenges  Nordis- 
koff, his  death  is  certain,  and  my  freedom  assured." 

"  Hush,  Elena,  hush,  for  Heaven's  sake,"  said  Enrico, 
bending  over  her.  "  You  forgot  where  you  are ;  you 
are  excited  and  nervous ;  yon  are  not  yourself ;  come, 
allow  me  to  take  you  home." 

Without  the  least  resistance  she  allowed  Enrico  to 
wrap  her  cloak  around  her  and  lead  her  to  her  car- 
riage ;  and  when  there,  and  the  door  closed,  she  leaned 
her  head  on  her  cousin's  shoulder  and  wept  long  and 
bitterly. 

While  this  acene  was  going  on  with  Enrico  in  the 


194 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


■5 1 


i! 


i 


box  of  the  Duchess  of  Castellara,  Count  Valdimer  Nor- 
diskoff  sauntered  slowly  up  to  the  third  tier,  where 
he  found  an  empty  box,  which  lie  entered,  and  con- 
cealing himself  behind  the  curtain,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  loggia  opposite,  where,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
drapery,  he  could  discover  the  bent  form  of  Hugo,  and 
near  liim,  her  face  radiant  with  delight,  his  daughter 
Lisa. 

It  was  the  fii-st  time  in  her  life  that  the  young  girl 
had  ever  listened  to  an  opera,  although  she  had  en- 
treated her  fatlier  repeatedly  to  allow  her  to  enjoy 
that  happiness,  if  only  for  once;  but  he  had  always 
refused  her  decidedly,  telling  her  that  it  was  no  place 
for  the  poor  and  lowly,  especially  for  one  afflicted  as 
he  was — who  had  no  desire  to  flaunt  his  deformity  in 
the  eyes  of  tbe  proud  and  fashionable.  To  such  rea- 
soning she  could  find  no  answer,  for  she  underatood 
how  sensitive  her  unfortunate  father  was,  and  how 
cruel  it  would  be  to  force  him  into  a  position  where 
he  must  suffer  intolerably  to  give  her  a  pleasure  ;  so 
for  some  time  she  had  not  spoken  of 'it ;  but,  in  spite  of 
her  silence,  she  desired  it  all  the  same. 

One  day  it  occurred  to  Hugo,  after  he  had  watched 
the  girl  iiaiTOwly,  that  some  change  had  come  over 
her.  She  was  pale  and  silent,  and  her  eyes  often  looked 
as  though  she  had  wept  in  secret ;  or  she  was  restless, 
feverish,  irritable,  her  appetite  failed,  and  she  lost  her 


n 

0 
H 

fi 

0 

li 

u 

ti 
tl 
d 
a 

si 

P 
r( 


mE  OPERA. 

,,  Count  Valdimer  Nor- 
)  the  third  tier,  where 

he  entered,  and  con- 
tain, he  fixed  his  eyes 
in  the  shadow  of  the 
ent  form  of  lingo,  and 

delight,  his  daughter 

fe  that  the  young  girl 
although  she  had  en- 
to  allow  her  to  enjoy 
o;  but  he  had  always 
er  that  it  was  no  place 
illy  for  one  afflicted  as 
flaunt  liis  deformity  in 
ion  able.  To  such  rea- 
er,  for  she  underatood 
father  was,  and  how 
I  into  a  position  where 
^ive  her  a  pleasure  ;  so 
n  of 'it ;  but,  in  spite  of 
}  same. 

,  after  he  had  watched 
hange  had  come  over 
d  her  eyes  often  looked 
it ;  or  she  was  restless, 
iailed,  and  she  lost  her 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  OPERA. 


195 


interest  in  her  father's  work,  posing  wearily  and  lan- 
guidly for  the  statue  of  Ilebe,  that  was  growing  slowly 
and  surely  into  life  and  beauty  under  the  artist's  cun- 


ning hand. 


"  What  can  ail  her  ? "  he  said  to  Signora  Pia. 
«  Can  she  be  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  she  is  not  ill,  she  is  only  dull ;  she  is 
young  and  needs  pleasure — give  her  a  little  change, 
and  she  will  be  cheerful  again." 

So  Hugo  conquered  his  repugnance  to  appearing  in 
public,  and  took  Lisa  to  hear  "  La  Favorita." 

At  fii-st  the  girl  was  almost  wild  with  delight.  The 
music,  the  lights,  the  gay  crowd,  the  beautiful  scenes 
on  the  stage,  the  acting,  the  singers — and  more  than 
all,  the  lovely  prima  donna  enchanted  her,  and  her 
father  could  scarce  keep  her  ardor  within  the  bounds 
of  propriety.  She  would  lean  forward,  and  clasp  her 
little  hands  rapturously,  and  almost  shout  with  delight, 
until  her  beauty  and  enthusiasm  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  many,  and  numerous  glasses  were  levelled  at 
their  humble  loggia.  Suddenly  she  started  and  turned 
deadly  pale,  and  her  eyes  had  a  wild,  frightened  look, 
as  she  leaned  forward  and  fixed  her  gaze  on  an  oppo- 
site box.  Hugo  watched  her  narrowly,  a  strange  sus- 
picion filling  his  heart.  She  had  seen  some  one  she 
recognized,  and  who  could  it  be  ?  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  where  she  was  looking  but  a  fluttering  curtain 


196 


NEMESIS. 


before  an  empty  box.  Still  the  expresrion  of  her  face 
did  not  deceive  him,  there  was  some  mystery  that  he 
did  not  understand. 

At  length  «he  turned  her  fixed  gaze  .from  the  empty 
loggia  opposite,  and  glancing  down  to  the  first  tier,her 
face  suddenly  lighted  up,  and  leaning  toward  her 
father,  she  said,  in  a  suppressed  whisper,  "  Look,  papa, 
do  you  see  that  lovely  lady  yonder  ?  I  know  her  face, 
she  is  the  one  I  talked  with  that  day  in  San  Miniato- 
she  is  the  one  who  gave  me  the  rosary." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

NEMKSIS. 

jlT  the  end  of  the  month,  according  to  his  agree- 
ment with  the  hunchback.  Count  Valdimer 
presented  himself  at  the  studio  of  the  strange 
artist,  ostensibly  to  criticise  the  statiie  of  Hebe,  but,  in 
reality,  to  endeavor  to  obtain  an  interview  with  the  fair 

model. 

When  he  entered,  admitted  by  Signora  Pia  accord- 
ing to  instruction,  he  found  Hugo  working  diligently, 
b^t  he  was  alone,  and  the  visitor  sought  vainl  n 
every  part  of  the  vast  room  for  the  fair  face  and 


NEMESIS. 


197 


3xpregrion  of  her  face 
joine  mystery  that  he 

[  gaze  from  the  empty 
wn  to  the  first  tier, her 
,  leaning  toward  her 
B-hisper,  "  Look,  papa, 
,er  "i  I  know  her  face, 
day  in  San  Miniato— 
rosary." 


Kill. 


,  according  to  his  agree- 
iback.  Count  Valdimer 
he  stndio  of  the  strange 
I  statne  of  Hebe,  but,  in 
a  interview  with  the  fair 

by  Signora  Pia  accord- 
ugo  working  diligently, 
risitor  sought  vainl  n 
I  for  the  fair  face  and 


golden  hair  of  the  lovely  Lisa,  whom  he  hoped  to  find 
in  the  company  of  her  father,  or  rather  alone,  for  he 
fancied  it  might  be  his  happy  chance  to  arrive  during 
some  of  the  frequent  absences  of  the  artist.  But  his 
good  genius  did  not  favor  him  to  that  extent ;  the 
himchback  was  at  his  post  and  received  his  patron 
with  almost  sullen  indifPerence,  scarce  deigning  to  dis- 
cuss the  merits  of  the  work  that  was  growing  into  sur- 
passing beauty  under  his  skilful  hand. 

But  while  Valdimer  was  secretly  enraged  at  this 
apathetic  reception,  he  could  find  no  rational  fault, 
since  the  work  was  so  perfect ;  neither  could  he  frame 
any  excuse  for  prolonging  his  visit  beyond  a  reasonable 
time ;  so,  reluctantly,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  without 
obtaining  even  a  glimpse  of  the  object  of  his  adora- 
tion. 

It  had  been  some  days  since  he  had  knelt  by  her 
side  in  the  Church  of  San  Marco,  and  although  he  had 
haunted  the  same  spot  at  Vespers,  she  had  come  no 
more,  and  his  heart  seemed  to  be  consuming  with  the 
ardor  of  a  love  which,  the  more  it  was  suppressed  and 
thwarted,  the  more  it  was  increased  and  strengthened. 
It  was  true  that  he  had  seen  her  that  night  at  the 
opera,  had  watched  her  exquisite  face  lighted  up  with 
enthusiasm  and  delight.  How  fresh  and  sweet  and 
innocent  she  was ;  how  different  from  a  cold,  haughty 
woman  of  the  world;  how  he  longed  to  be  by  her 


198 


NEMESIS. 


Bide,  to  hear  her  naive  expressions  of  pleasure,  to  look 
into'  the  depths  of  her  heavenly  eyes,  to  listen  to  the 
music  of  her  laugh  1  but  that  was  not  possible  ;  he  was 
separated  from  her  by  the  convenances  of  society,  by 
the  watchful  care  of  her  sullen,  suspicions  father,  by 
every  obstacle  that  could  keep  two  ardent,  loving 
hearts  asunder.  But  these  he  meant  to  overcome; 
there  was  nothing  that  his  impetuous  heart  would  not 
undertake  to  break  down  the  barriers  between  them. 
He  was  rich  and  free,  then  what  was  there  to  prevent 
him  from  winning  her  at  last?  A  little  time,  a  little 
patience,  and  he  would  have  his  reward. 

So  he  went  as  often  as  he  dared  to  tlie  studio  in  the 
Via  San  Gallo,  where  he  always  found  Hugo  alone, 
working  in  sullen  silence,  in  feverish  haste  to  com- 
plete  an  order  that  was  to  give  him  wealth  and  peace, 
and  freedom  from  fear  and  anxiety. 

One  day,  as  he  entered  rather  hastily,  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  blue  robe  and  a  fringe  of  golden  hair  just 
disappearing  through  the  door,  and  that  was  all;  for 
Hugo  was  before  him,  almost  barring  his  entrance 
until  the  light  figure  had  entirely  disappeared.  The 
same  day  he  saw  a  piece  of  embroidery  lying  on  a 
bench  at  the  feet  of  Apollo,  and  taking  it  up,  when 
Hugo  was  not  looking,  he  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  feeling 
sure  that  she  would  know  that  he  had  kissed  it.  But 
Bhe  did  not.    As  subtle  as  love  may  be,  Lisa  did  not 


of  pleasure,  to  look 
yes,  to  listen  to  the 
lot  possible  ;  he  was 
ance8  of  society,  by 
uspicions  fatlier,  by 
two  ardent,  loving 
iieant  to  overcome; 
ous  heart  would  not 
riors  between  them, 
iras  there  to  prevent 
L  little  time,  a  little 
sward. 

to  tlie  studio  in  the 
\  found  Hugo  alone, 
perish  haste  to  com- 
m  wealth  and  peace, 

hastily,  he  caught  a 
;e  of  golden  hair  just 
md  that  was  all ;  for 
barring  his  entrance 
y  disappeared.  The 
ibroidery  lying  on  a 
I  taking  it  up,  when 
1  his  lips  to  it,  feeling 
5  had  kissed  it.  But 
may  be,  Lisa  did  not 


NEMESIS. 


199 


detect  her  lover's  kiss  or  touch  on  the  work  she  had  so 
hastily  dropped  when  her  father  told  her  to  leave  the 
room,  for  a  stranger  was  about  to  enter.  Neither  did 
she  know  that  the  rich  Eussian  noble  who  had  ordered 
the  Hebe  was  the  same  person  who  had  smiled  on  her 
from  behind  the  statue  of  Fauna,  and  knelt  by  her  side 
ill  the  Church  of  San  Marco. 

Another  day,  after  ho  had  been  there,  she  found  a 
violet  carelessly  dropped  on  her  work.  Was  it  an 
accident,  or  had  it  been  placed  there?  She  could  not 
tell,  but  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  afterward  hid  it 
in  her  bosom  without  saying  anything  to  her  father. 
For  some  reason  it  seemed  a  message  from  the  one  she 
thought  of  so  constantly. 

As  day  after  day  passed  by,  the  poor  girl  grew  paler 
and  sadder,  and  her  father  watched  her  more  closely, 
until  his  anxious  scrutiny  became  a  positive  pain  to 
her;  he  would  not  suffer  her  to  leave  his  sight,  nor 
take  her  to  the  gardens,  nor  allow  her  to  accompany 
Signora  Pia  to  Vespers.  It  seemed  as  though  he 
feared  that  the  very  air  would  absorb  her,  or  some 
unseen  hand  snatch  her  away  from  his  side ;  and  as 
his  anxiety  increased,  he  too  became  restless  and  fever- 
ish ;  he  could  not  sleep,  he  no  longer  relished  his  food, 
even  his  work  became  distasteful  to  him ;  but  he  forced 
himself  to  it  for  the  sake  of  what  it  was  to  give  him. 

Sometimes  in  desperation  he  would  throw  down  his 


200 


NEMESIS. 


I 


tools  and  rush  out  into  the  open  air,  and  hurry  througli 
the  streets  and  gardens  as  though  an  evil  spirit  pur- 
sued him.  He  was  haunted  by  a  fear,  a  vague,  namelesa 
fear,  that  some  terrible  calamity  was  coming  upon  him  ; 
that  his  secret  was  about  being  discovered  ;  that  all  he 
loved  or  prized  in  the  worid  was  about  to  be  taken 
from  him,  and  he  was  almost  in  despair ;  the  slumber- 
ing fires  in  his  nature  seemed  about  to  break  forth  in 
awful  destruction,  and  he  had  no  power  to  restrain 

them. 

One  day  he  climbed  the  hill  of  San  Miniato,  and 
entering  the  church,  he  knelt  and  prayed  long  and 
fervently ;  then  he  descended  to  the  spot  under  the 
cypress  trees  where  he  had  stolen  the  child,  and  wept 
and  entreated  God  again  and  again  to  forgive  him  and 
save  him  from  despair. 

He  had  reached  what  seemed  to  him  the  sumuiit  of 
woridly  prosperity,  wealth  was  about  to  be  his,  and  he 
had  already  won  all  the  fame  his  heart  desired,  yet 
he  was  wretched,  more  wretched  than  he  had  ever 
been,  for  he  felt  with  fatal  certainty  that  he  was 
about  to  be  plunged  from  prosperity  and  happiness 
into  sudden,  irretrievable  ruin. 

One  morning  he  tried  vainly  to  work  from  Lisa's 
drooping,  spiritless  figure,  but  even  his  model  failed  to 
inspire  him ;  instead  of  the  glowing  goddess  of  youth, 
he  was  modelling  a  statue  of  sorrow;  her  wan,  sad  face 


NBME8I8. 


201 


r,  and  hurry  throngli 
\  an  ovil  spirit  pur- 
lar,  a  vaguo,  nameless 
fis  coming  upon  liim  ; 
icovered  ;  that  all  he 
bs  about  to  be  taken 
espair ;  the  slnmber- 
)ut  to  break  forth  in 
\o  power  to  restrain 

of  San  Miniato,  and 
[id  prayed  long  and 
3  the  spot  under  the 
1  the  child,  and  wept 
in  to  forgive  him  and 

0  him  the  summit  of 
>out  to  be  his,  and  he 
is  heart  desired,  yet 
d  than  he  had  ever 
jrtainty  that  he  was 
perity  and  happiness 

to  work  from  Lisa's 
3n  his  model  failed  to 
ing  ginidess  of  youth, 
jw;  her  wan,  sad  face 


was  a  reproach  to  him,  and  seemed  to  arouse  a  feeling 
of  ajiger  in  his  heart  that  he  could  not  overcome. 

« In  Heaven's  name,"  he  said  harshly,  "  why  do  you 
wear  such  a  face,  when  I  wish  you  to  look  happy  1  Go 
to  your  room,  and  do  not  return  until  you  can  bring  a 
more  cheerful  expression  with  you." 

The  poor  girl  went  away  weeping  bitterly,  and  the 
sifhtof  her  tears  almost  maddened  him.     Throwing 
down  his  tools,  he  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his 
face  in  an  agony  of  sorrow.     He  had  made  his  idol 
weep,  he  had  spoken  harshly   to  this  lovely,  tender 
child   that  he  worshipped.     What  a  fiend  he  was  I 
Tliore  must  be  some  evil  demon  in  his  misshapen  body 
that  was  suddenly  unloosed.    What  could  he  do  to 
gain  her  forgiveness  ?    Where  could  he  go  for  help  in 
liis  trouble  ?    Suddenly  he  remembered  that  day,  so 
many  years  ago,  when  in  his  despair  he  had  gone  to 
pray  before  he  ushered  his  guilty  soul  into  eternity, 
that  the  Angel  of  the  Church  had  appeared  to  him  and 
saved  him  from  himself.     Would  she  save  him  now  ? 
He  had  always  worn  the  ring  that  she  had  given  him ; 
drawing  it  from  his  bosom  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
and  the  touch  seemed  to  reassure  him.    "  I  have  never 
needed  her  before,"  he  said.    "  I  have  never  been  in 
despair  since  that  day.    Now  I  will  see  if  I  can  find  her, 
and  perhaps  she  will  save  me,  as  she  did  then." 
At  that  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 


* 


202 


NEMESIS. 


Signora  Pia,  looking  in,  aaid  :  "  Here  is  a  lady  who 
wishoa  to  see  yon,  Signore.     May  alio  enter?" 

And  before  he  could  reply,  the  visitor  stood  in  his 
presence. 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke.  Signora  Pia  closed 
the  door,  and  left  them  alone. 

Then  the  lady,  fixing  her  clear  eyes  upon  him  with 
earnest  scrutiny,  said,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  in  his  ear 
like  a  strain  of  heavenly  music:   ■  v    « 

"  Is  it  possible !  are  you  Hugo  the  artist  ?  Are  you 
the  great  sculptor  that  all  Florence  is  talking  of  ? " 

"I  am  Hugo,"  ho  answered,  humbly  and  simply, 
and  all  the  while  his  sad  gaze  seemed  to  be  searching 
for  something  in  her  face. 

"  And  you  have  forgotten  me  ? " 

"  Ah !  Signora.  You  bring  back  something  in  my 
past,  some  blessed  memory,  but  of  what  I  cannot  tell." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  the  Church  of  Santo  Spirito, 
where,  sixteen  years  ago,  you  wept  and  prayed  in  terri- 
ble grief?" 

"  Forgotten  it !  no,  Signora,  how  could  I  ever  for- 
get that  day  when  an  angel  saved  me  from  despair  ?  " 

"  A  woman  offered  you  her  human  sympathy,  you 
should  say,  and  gave  you  a  ring,  which  she  told  you  to 
keep  until  you  needed  her  help." 

"  Ah !  Signora,  how  did  you  learn  that !  Yes,  you 
speak  truly,  and  I  have  the  ring.    I  have  worn  it  next 


Here  is  a  lady  who 
alio  enter  ? " 
e  visitor  stood  in  his 

Signora  Pia  closed 

eyes  upon  him  with 
lat  sounded  in  his  ear 

;he  artist  ?     Are  you 
e  is  talking  of  ? " 
humbly  and  simply, 
3med  to  be  searching 


ck  something  in  my 
:  what  I  cannot  tell." 
eh  of  Santo  Spirito, 
t  and  prayed  in  terri- 

)w  could  I  ever  for- 
me from  despair? " 
uman  sympathy,  you 
rhich  she  told  you  to 

earn  that?    Yes,  you 
I  have  worn  it  next 


NEMESIS. 


203 


my  heart  ever  since.  Here  it  is,"  and  Hugo  drew 
forth  the  little  band  of  gold,  so  lately  wet  with  his 
tears. 

A  sad  smile  passed  over  the  visitor's  face,  and  sho 
.said  softly,  as  though  she  were  speaking  to  hereelf, 
"  The  gift  is  retained,  but  the  giver  is  forgotten." 

"  Madre  di  Dio  !  Is  it  true  ?  Aro  you  the  Angel 
of  the  Church?"  cried  Hugo,  dropping  on  his  knees, 
and  clasping  his  hands  ajjpealingly. 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  I  am  the  same  woman ;  but  rise,  I 
pray  yon.     Do  not  kneel  to  me." 

^'  And  to  think  that  I  should  over  forget  the  face  of 
one  who  was  my  salvation,"  said  the  hunchback,  over- 
come with  shame  and  surprise. 

"  But  my  face  is  not  the  same,  my  friend ;  the  years, 
the  bitter  strife,  the  pain,  and  sin,  and  anger  of  my 
life,  have  changed  and  marred  my  features." 

"  Ah  1  not  so,  Signora ;  you  are  lovely  now,"  mur- 
mured Hugo,  with  reverent  admiration  ;  "  but  you  are 
diflferent.  You  were  like  an  angel  then,  but  now  you 
are  like  a  queen." 

"  And  you,  my  friend,  how  little  I  thought  to  sec  in 
the  great  artist,  the  man  whose  genius  all  admire,  the 
one  whom  I  once  comforted  a  little  with  ray  aid  and 
sympathy." 

"  The  one  you  saved,  Signora,  for  had  it  not  been 
for  you  1  should  not  be  living  to-day.    I  should  not  be 


204 


NEMESIS. 


what  I  am.  God  sent  you  to  save  ine  from  doBtnictioti 
then,  and  perhaps  he  has  sent  you  again,  for  I  need 
you  now." 

"  What,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  unhappy,  when 
yon  are  so  prosperous  ? " 
"  Most  wretched,  Signora." 

"  In  what  way,  my  friend  \    How  can  I  aid  you  ?  " 
"  By  saving  me  from  myself.    I  suffer  because  I  am 
my  own  enemy.    I  am  ungrateful.    God  has  given  uie 
much,  and  I  would  have  more." 

"  "What  would  yon  have  that  you  have  not  ?  " 
Hugo  dropped  his  eyes,  and  hesitated  before  this 
direct  question.  Alas  I  now  that  he  had  found  a 
heart  to  pour  his  sorrow  into,  he  could  not  avail  him- 
self of  the  comfort  it  might  give  him.  He  could  not 
be  cured  because  he  could  not  tell  his  disease.  He 
could  not  confess  his  sin,  therefore  he  could  not  be 
forgiven  ;  realizing  this,  he  paused  on  the  threshold  of 
confidence,  and  withdrew  his  sorrow  again  within  the 
recesses  of  his  own  overburdened  soul. 

"What  is  your  sorrow!    Cannot  yon  open  yoaf 
heart  to  me  1 "  urged  the  gentle  voice. 

Then  Hugo,  evading  the  true  answer,  said   with 
some  hesitation : 

"  I  hate  myself,  Signora,  and  I  would  be  as  others  are." 
"  My  poor  friend,  why  hate  thyself  when  God  hath 
created  thee  as  thou  art  9 " 


me  frum  dostniction 
ou  again,  for  I  need 

are  unhappy,  when 


ow  can  I  aid  yon  ? " 
[  Buffer  because  I  am 
I.    God  has  given  me 

AX  have  not  ?  " 
hesitated  before  this 
lat  he  had  found  a 
could  not  avail  him- 

him.  He  could  not 
tell  his  disease.  He 
ore  he  could  not  be 
)d  on  the  threshold  of 
row  again  within  the 

soul. 

tinot  yon  open  youf 
voice. 
,e  answer,  said   with 

rould  be  as  others  are." 
yself  when  God  hath 


NEMESIS. 


m 


"Ah,  Signora,  because  1  would  have  what  my 
talents  can  never  give  mo,  and  what  I  would  prize 
more  than  honor,  wealth,  or  fame." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  H»iman  love,  Signora." 

"  Alas,  my  friend,  it  is  but  a  name.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  love.  There  is  self-interest,  there  is  passion, 
tliere  are  a  thousand  emotions  that  the  heart  mistakes 
for  love;  but  love  such  as  you  have  dreamed  of — per- 
haps, such  as  you  believe  exists — I  have  never  met 
with."  ^^  '■       " 

"  And  if  you  have  never  met  with  it,  you,  so  lovely, 
so  favored  by  your  Creator,  how  can  I,  a  poor,  afflicted, 
misshapen  creature,  dare  to  expect  it  ? " 

"  As  you  are,  you  are  spared  all  illusions,  all  de- 
ceptions, all  professions  that  mean  nothing.  Yoiir 
heart  is  not  wounded  as  othei-e  have  been.  Thank  God 
for  that.    It  is  His  compensation  for  your  misfortune." 

"  Can  you  say  tr.uly,  Signora,  that  love  is  a  myth, 
imaginary,  and  not  possible?  because  if  yon  can,  it 
will  reconcile  me  to  my  deformity,  my  trouble,  my 
disappointments — ^in  fact,  to  the  life  that  an  hour  ago 
I  felt  to  be  a  burden  too  heavy  to  bear." 

The  Duchess  turned  her  face  away  from  the  sad, 
imploring  gaze  of  the  hunchback,  who  seemed  to  wait 
for  her  answer  as  though  his  very  life  depended  upon 
it    But  for  her  soul's  salvation  she  oould  not  have 


I 


I 


1 


206 


NEMESIS. 


Baiti,  at  that  inoinotit,  tlmt  there  was  no  such  Miitifr  as 
human  lovo  ;  for  a  nicHu.ry,  a  clin-,'ing,  tender  Hiom- 
ory  of  lior  girlhood,  that  had  colored  her  whole  life, 
and  had  j,'>vci»  li^  »^ll  »•»«  «^^'««^  P"''«  liain>'"e88  ^ho 
had  ever  known,  flooded  hor  heart,  and  woUod  to  her 
eyes  in  hot,  paasictnatc  tears. 

"  You  do  not  answer  nie,  Signora,hecauBo  you  would 
not  teach  me  what  is  false.  Tl>o  heart  heating  in  my 
ill-favored  hody  is  like  that  of  all  mankind,  and  it  tells 
me  I  can  never  enjoy  the  sweetest  hlcssing  that  God 
has  bestowed  on  all  humanity,  and  I  do  not  expect  it ; 
but  a  filial  love,  a  natural  love,  ought  my  misfortune 
to  deprive  me  of  that  ?  " 

«  I  scarcely  understand  you,  Signor  Hugo  ;  explain 

yourself  more  clearly." 

"  I  haveadaughter— a youngand beautiful  daughter." 

«'  You  ?  Is  it  possible  ? "  said  the  Duchess  with  ill- 
ooncealed  surprise.  "  1  did  not  suppose  you  had  any 
ties  of  that  kind." 

"  I  have  this  one  child,"  continued  Hugo,  without 
seeming  to  notice  the  Duchess's  astonishment.  "  She 
is  all  1  have  in  the  world  to  love,  and  I  worship  her." 

"  And  her  mother,  where  is  she  i " 

«  She  is  dead,  Signora,"  replied  the  hunchback,  low- 
ering his  eyes  ;  "  she  died  when  Lisa  was  a  baby." 

«  You  say  your  child  is  lovely.  I  trust  she  is  affeo' 
tionate  and  dutiful." 


was  110  such  thhy^  as 
in^^iiig,  tender  inoin- 
ored  hor  whole  life, 
,  pure  happiness  she 
,rt,  and  woUod  to  her 

ra,  because  you  would 
!  heart  heating  in  iny 
mankind,  and  it  tells 
jst  blessing  that  God 
id  I  do  not  expect  it ; 
ought  my  misfortune 

ignor  Hugo;  explain 

d  beautiful  daughter." 
the  Duchess  with  ill- 
suppose  you  had  any 

tinued  Hugo,  without 
astonishment.     "  She 
B,  and  I  worship  her." 
le?" 

3d  the  hunchback,  low- 
Lisa  was  a  baby." 
^     I  trust  she  is  affeo 


IfEMKsrs. 


207 


"She  18  an  angel  of  g<K)dnt'8fl,  Signora,  and  she  has 
iilways  kived  mo  so  tenderly ;  hor  heart  has  been  like 
an  open  lHK)k  beforo  mo  ;  she  has  told  irio  all  her  little 
j(ij3  and  sorrows.  She  has  made  mc  her  litnf  fii<'iul, 
hor  only  companion,  and  she  has  seemed  light-heart''^ 
happy,  and  contented  until  recently.  Within  a  few 
weeks  there  has  been  a  change  in  her.  She  is  silent 
and  sad,  or  feverish  and  restless  by  turns.  She  is  dis- 
Hitirtfied  with  her  humble  home,  she  cares  no  more  for 
her  books,  and,  worse  than  all,  I  fear  alio  does  not  U»vo 
mo  as  she  did.  1  fear  that  she  is  concealing  »<on)o- 
tliing  from  me,  and  my  lieart  is  breaking,  I  am  too 
niiserablo  to  live,  and  1  know  not  what  to  do.  Tell 
me,  I  pray,  Signora,  how  can  I  win  back  her  love  and 
confidence  ? " 

"  How  old  is  she,  my  friend  ? " 

"She  has  just  passed  sixteen,  but  she  seems  older 
than  her  ago." 

"  She  may  be  in  love.    Has  she  a  lover  ? " 

"  A  lover,  Signora?  Why,  she  is  but  a  child,"  cried 
Hugo,  pale  and  trembling  at  the  possibility,  "and  she 
has  seen  no  one,  she  has  never  been  anywhere  without 
me,  then  how  can  she  have  a  lover  ? " 

"  I  know  not,  but  it  seems  a  reasonable  solution  to 
the  riddle,  and  if  she  is  young  and  lovely,  it  is  but  a 
natural  consequence." 

"  But  she  has  seen  no  one,  Signora,"  pereisted  the 


I 


lii 


NEMESIS. 


hunchback.  "  It  cannot  be.  Oh  1  she  cannot  love 
anotlier  better  than  the  father  who  ha8  worehipped 
her.     The  thought  is  death  to  me." 

"  But  you  must  give  her  up  to  a  husband  some  day, 
my  friend." 

"That  I  never  will  dol"  cried  Hugo,  with  sudden 
rage.  "  No  one  shall  take  her  from  me.  I  will  see 
her  dead  first." 

"That  is  unreasonable.  Calm  yourself,  and  you 
will  see  that  such  a  determination  is  folly." 

"  Pardon  me,  Signora ;  you  see  that  my  evil  spirit 
Btill  gets  the  better  of  me.  I  have  loved  the  child  so, 
that  I  cannot  think  calmly  of  the  possibility  of  losing 
her."  :■'  -^'    --■"-    v^-.. '->,v.;.r/ 

"Perhaps  I  am  mistaken;  the  change  that  you 
notice  in  her  may  arise  from  other  causes." 

"  Can  it  be  that  she  has  just  begun  to  realize  what 
a  wretched,  deformed  creature  her  father  is  ?  Is  it  a 
natural  repugnance  for  my  hideous  self  that  keeps  her 
away  from  me?  Oh!  tell  me,  Signora,  can  it  be 
that  ? "  And  the  hunchback,  entirely  overcome  by  his 
feelings,  covered  his  face  and  sobbed  as  he  had  done 
on  that  day  when  the  Duchess  first  saw  him  weeping 
in  the  Church  of  Santo  Spirito. 

«  My  friend,  you  must  control  yourself,  and  not  give 
way  in  this  weak  manner  to  imaginary  trouble.  Your 
daughter,  as  you  say,  is  but  a  child;  and  who  can 


NEMESIS. 


209 


Ohl   she  cannot  love 
who  ha8  worehipped 

-(a 

3  a  husband  some  day, 

-  ,  • 

id  Hugo,  with  sudden 
from  me.     I  will  see 

Im  yourself,  and  you 
m  is  folly." 

lee  that  my  evil  spirit 
ave  loved  the  child  bo, 
he  possibility  of  losing 

the  change  that  yon 
ler  causes." 

begun  to  realize  what 
her  father  is  ?  Is  it  a 
ous  self  that  keeps  her 
le,  Signora,  can  it  be 
ntirely  overcome  by  hia 
jobbed  as  he  had  done 
5  first  saw  him  weeping 

1  yourself,  and  not  give 
aginary  trouble.  Your 
a  child;  and  who  can 


account  for  the  caprices  of  childhood  ?  Do  not  distress 
yourself  with  the  idea  that  your  deformity  estranges 
her  heart  from  you.  She  has  seen  you  always,  and  I 
will  wager  that  she  never  thinks  of  it ;  and  that  she 
loves  you  as  well  as  any  child  can  love  a  parent." 

Hugo  raised  his  tear-stained  eyes  to  the  face  of  the 
Duchess  with  a  look  of  gratitude,  and  taking  her  hand, 
he  pressed  it  humbly  to  his  lips. 

«  Thank  you,  Signora,  for  your  kind  words ;  they 
give  me  new  life  ;  but  tell  me,  what  can  I  do  to  make 
the  child  happy  as  she  once  was  ? " 

"  Give  her  young  companions  and  more  freedom ; 
for  youth  craves  change  and  amusement.  Take  my 
advice,  and  you  will  see  her  as  gay  and  happy  as  a 
bird." 

Hugo's  countenance  fell.  She  had  advised  what  he 
could  not  and  would  not  do,  but  he  said  nothing. 

Tlie  Duchess  watched  him  closely  for  a  moment, 
and  then  added  :  "  I  hope  you  have  told  me  the  real 
cause  of  your  trouble;  that  you  have  kept  nothing 
back,  otherwise  my  advice  will  be  of  no  benefit  to 
you." 

"  I  have  told  you  all,  Signora,"  returned  the  hunch- 
back a  little  sullenly, "  and  I  thank  you  for  your  advice." 

"  Now,  my  friend,  I  will  inform  you  of  the  object  of 
uiy  visit ;  for  I  had  an  object  in  coming,  but  my  sur- 
prise at  finding  in  Signer  Hugo  an  old  acquaintance 


210 


NEMESIS. 


& 


-1 


ha^  almost  driven  it  from  my  mind,"  said  the  Duch- 
ess, hx)kiiig  curiously  around  the  studio.  I  came  here 
to  give  the  most  popular  sculptor  in  Florence  a  com- 
mission." ^ 

«  I  am  at  your  service,  as  you  well  know,  Signora. 
"What  would  you  have  me  do?  " 
«  I  would  like  a  statue  of  myself." 
«  That  will  be  a  pleasure,  and  I  need  not  assure  you 
that  I  will  do  my  best.    Is  it  to  be  a  portrait,  Signora, 
or  in  character."  - 

«  A  character  and  a  portrait  both,  if  you  can   com- 
bine the  two  effectively." 

"  That  depends  on  the  character." 
"  I  have  decided  on  it.     It  is  to  be  Nemesis." 
«  Nemesis,  the  goddess  of  vengeance  1 " 
"  Yes,  it  is  a  fancy,  and  I  would  have  it  so." 
«  But,  Signora,  I  cannot  model  a  portrait  of  you  in 
that  character.    There  is  not  a  line  or  an  expression  in 
your  face  like  the  fierce  demon  of  revenge." 

«  When  I  think  of  my  wrongs,  I  can  put  my  desire 
into  my  face,  and  instead  of  the  Duchess  of  Castel- 
lara,  you  will  see  before  you  retribution  pei-sonified." 

And  as  she  spoke  her  eyes  glowed  and  deepened 
with  such  vindictive  hate  that  Hugo  trembled  and 
Bhrunk  from  her  as  though  she  had  some  injury  to 
avenge  on  him.  The  years  had  indeed  changed  her. 
Was  tliis  the  sweet,  compassionate  woman  who  had 


NEME8IB. 


211 


ind,"  said  the  Duc.li- 
studio,     I  came  liei-e 
•  in  Florence  a  corn- 
well  know,  Signora. 

slf." 

I  need  not  assure  you 

je  a  portrait,  Signora, 

3tli,  if  you  can  coin- 


.» 


3r 

;o  be  Nemesis." 

;eance 1 " 

Id  have  it  so." 

1  a  portrait  of  you  in 

ne  or  an  expression  in 

)f  revenge." 

,  I  can  put  my  desire 

le  Dnchess  of  Castel- 

ribution  pei*8onified." 

glowed  and  deepened 

t  Hugo  trembled  and 

e  had  some  injury  to 

[  indeed  changed  her. 

nate  woman  who  had 


stood  before  him  in  Santo  Spirito  1  was  this  implaca- 
ble, cruel  enemy  the  Angel  of  the  Church  ? 

"  Madre  di  Dlo','  he  thought,  "  if  I  were  her  victim, 
glie  would  kill  me  with  her  glance."  But  he  only  said, 
'•  I  will  try,  Signora.  I  will  do  my  best  to  produce  the 
cliaracter  you  desire  to  assume ;  still  I  wish  it  were  some 
other  impei-sonation  in  which  I  could  do  both-  you  and 
myself  more  justice." 

«  I  am  satisfied  with  my  choice,  and  I  am  willing  to 
leave  it  to  you  to  work  out.  Do  not  lose  my  face  in 
the  character  nor  the  character  in  my  face,  that  is  all 
I  ask  ;  combine  the  two,  and  I  shall  be  content.  When 
can  I  have  my  first  sitting  ? " 

"  To-morrow,  if  it  suits  you,  Signora." 

"  Then  I  will  be  here  at  this  hour." 

"  Very  well,  I  shall  be  at  your  service." 

"  And  I  trust  to  find  you  in  better  spirits,  and  more 
reconciled  to  your  destiny,"  added  the  Duchess,  ris- 
ing and  drawing  her  veil  over  her  face. 

« I  will  endeavor  to  bo,  Signora,"  returned  Hugo,  as 
he  opened  the  door  for  her. 

Then  he  watched  her  descend  the  stairs  with  a  proud, 
firm  step,  her  silken  garments  trailing  after  her,  and 
he  murmured  to  himself : 

"  The  Angel  of  the  Church  as  Nemesis.  What  can  it 
mean 1 " 


212 


A  DISCOVERT. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


•  A  DISCOVERY.  • 

JS  soon  as  the  Dncliess  of  Castellara  left  Hugo's 
studio,  he  sent  Signora  Pia  to  bring  Lisa  to 
him,  for  his  heart  was  longing  to  be  recon- 
ciled with  the  child,  to  whom  he  had  never  before,  in 
all  her  life,  spoken  an  angry  word. 

As  she  entered,  her  red,  swollen  eyes,  and  pale  face 
were  a  silent  reproach  to  him,  although  she  had 
wiped  away  her  teai-s,  and  was  striving  to  appear 
cheerful,  as  he  had  commanded  her  to  do.  Looking 
timidly  at  hint  to  see  if  he  were  still  angered,  there 
was  an  expression  of  fear  mingled  with  sorrow  on  her 
sweet  face,  that  pierced  him  to  the  heart,  and  almost 
bowed  him  to  the  earth  before  her  in  deepest  peni- 
tence. .    ^ 

With  all  his  love  and  contrition  in  his  face,  he  held 
out  his  arms  as  she  approached,  and  taking  her  ckwe 
to  his  heart  he  sobbed  :  "  Forgive  me,  my  darling,  for 
speaking  to  you  in  anger,  forgive  me." 

«  Hnsh,  dear  papa  1  It  was  I  who  provoked  it  with 
my  indifference.  My  heart  was  not  in  your  work,  and 
80  my  face  showed  it  j  but  I  will  do  better  now." 


tr. 


A  DISCOVERT. 


213 


LIV. 

Castellara  left  Hugo's 
I  Pia  to  bring  Lisa  to 

longing  to  be  recon- 
e  had  never  before,  in 
rd. 

len  eyes,  and  pale  face 
m,  although  she  had 
iras  striving  to  appear 
id  her  to  do.  Looking 
ere  still  angered,  there 
led  with  sorrow  on  her 

the  heart,  and  almost 
e  her  in  deepest  peni- 

lon  in  his  face,  he  held 
1,  and  taking  her  ckwe 
ive  me,  my  darling,  for 
/e  me." 

I  who  provoked  it  with 
s  not  in  your  work,  and 
ill  do  better  now." 


"And  why  was  not  your  heart  in  my  work?" 
asked  Hngo,  tenderly  stroking  her  hair. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  else,  papa." 

"  And  what  sad  thoughts  could  my  Lisa  have— for 
surely  they  were  sad  when  her  face  looked  so  sorrow- 
ful?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  stammered.  "I  scarcely 
remember  now  what  was  in  my  mind." 

«  My  child,  look  into  my  face ;  do  not  avert  yonr 
gaze  from  me.  There  is  something  in  your  heart  that 
you  would  conceal  from  your  father."  He  spoke  very 
gently,  but  very  earnestly,  as  though  he  entreated  her 
to  unburden  her  soul  to  him.  But  she  continued  to 
look  away  without  speaking. 

«  If  there  is  any  ungratificd  wish  in  your  heart,  any 
sorrow,  hope,  or  fear,  tell  it  ^ne,  and  let  me  be  your 
best  friend,  your  guide,  your  support.  God  knows,  I 
will  do  all  for  you  that  a  loving,  unselfish  parent 

can." 

« I  know  it,  papa;  you  are  always  good ;  but  there  is 
nothing  to  tell  you,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  voice,  still 
looking  away. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  darling  ? " 

A  vivid  blush  passed  over  the  girl's  cheeks  and 
brow,  and  the  tears  came  suddenly  to  her  eyes,  but  she 
forced  them  back,  and  said  quietly :  "  Have  I  ever 
told  you  an  untruth,  papa  1 " 


214 


A  DISCOVERT. 


W 

( 


."  Never,  my  child."  :      ' 

"Then,   cannot  you  trust  mo  now,  and  I  will  be 
your  own  dear,  good  Lisa,  and  never  grieve    you 


again. 


"  God  bless  you,  my  treasure,"  and  Hugo  took  her 
lovely  face  between  his  hands,  and  looked  down  into 
the  liquid  depths  of  hei*  eyes  with  an  eager,  hungry, 
longing  gaze,  aa  though  he  would  read  her  soul 
through  and  through,  and  then  asked :  "  My  Lisa,  are 
you  sure  you  love  me  ? " 

"  Quite  sure,  papa,"  she  returned,  with  unflinching 
eyes. 

"  Better  than  any  one  in  the  world  ?  " 

The  white  lids  fell,  a  hot  blush  suffused  her  cheeks 
again,  and,  with  a  short,  forced  laugh,  she  replied  : 
"Oh!  you  dear,  foolish  papa,  whom  have  I  in  the 
world  to  love  beside  you  ?  " 

Hugo  let  her  face  fall  from  between  his  hands,  and 
turned  away  with  a  heavy  sigh ;  he  was  not  satisfied — 
she  was  hiding  something  from  him.  Her  nature  was 
as  transparent  as  crystal,  and  he  could  detect  the  faint 
shadow  of  concealment  there. 

"  Now,  papa,  do  not  look  sad ;  corae,  let  us  go  to 
work  on  the  Hebe,  and  I  will  try  to  appear  as  you  wish 
me  to,  for  I  am  happier  than  I  was,  and  I  do  not  mean 
to  offend  you  with  my  sad  looks  again." 

"  You  may  amuse  yourself  with  your  books  or  your 


ij 


e  now,  and  I  will  be 
id  never  grieve    you 

!,"  and  Hngp  took  her 
and  looked  down  into 
iritli  an  eager,  hungry, 
would  read  her  soul 
aaked :  "  My  Lisa,  are 

rned,  with  unflinching 

vorld  % » 

sh  suffused  her  cheeks 

3d  laugh,  she  replied  : 

whom  have  I  in  the 

letween  his  hands,  and 

he  was  not  satisfied — 

him.     Her  nature  was 

s  could  detect  the  faint 

id  ;  come,  let  us  go  to 
•y  to  appear  as  you  wish 
was,  and  I  do  not  mean 
I  again." 
ithyour  books  or  your 


A  DISCOVERT. 


215 


embroidery,  my  child,  for  I  shall  not  work  on  the  Ilebo 
to-day.  I  must  go  out  and  find  some  clay  for  a  now 
Older." 

"  A  new  order,  papa  ?  Why,  what  have  yon  to  do  now  ? 
Oh !  how  famous  you  are  becoming.  Tell  nie,  what  is 
it?  "  cried  Lisa,  running  to  him  and  kissing  him  fondly 
on  both  cheeks. 

"  1  have  to  make  a  statue  of  the  Duchess  of  Castellara." 

"The  Duchess  of  Castellara  I  Is  she  not  the  one 
they  call  the  most  beautiful  lady  in  Florence  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  beautif  ifl  and  very  rich,"  returned  Hugo 
musingly. 

"Ah,  papa,  how  proud  I  am  when  all  the  great 
Florentines  come  to  you  to  ask  for  your  work !  Some 
day  we  will  be  as  grand  and  rich  as  they  are,  and  it 
will  be  because  of  your  genius." 

An  expression  of  satisfaction  passed  over  the  hunch- 
back's face,  for  her  praise  was  very  sweet  to  him,  and 
kissing  her  again  he  took  his  hat  and  went  out,  leaving 
her  alone  in  the  great,  dreary  room,  with  her  dumb  com- 
panions and  her  own  thoughts. 

Taking  her  embroidery,  as  her  father  had  recotn- 
mended,  she  sat  down  in  her  usual  place,  but,  instead  of 
working,  she  fell  to  thinking,  as  she  always  did  when 
she  was  alone,  of  her  hero  of  romance — the  handsome 
unknown  who  had  written  those  sweet  words  that  lay 
neit  her  heart,  and  who  had  pressed  her  hand  as  she 


216 


A  DISCOVERT. 


k„clt  at  her  prayei-s  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Sacrament. 
How  long  it  had  been  Binco  alio  had  seen  him,  and  hew 
Blowly  tlie  days  dragged  away,  without  the  hope  vi 

seeing  him  again. 

Suddenly  she  heard  steps  outside.  «  There -como. 
Signora  Tia,"  she  thought.  "  Oli,^  I  eannot  even  bo 
alone  long  enough  to  think  of  him." 

The  door  opened,  she  heard  the  old  woman  say, 
«  The  Signore  has  come,"  and  looking  up  she  saw  the 
object  of  her  thoughts  standing  before  her.  Then  tho 
d.>or  closed.  Signora  Pia  went  away  without  looku.g 
in  and  they  were  alone. 

At  first  she  was  so  overcome  by  surprise  and  joy,  that 
Bhe  could  neither  move  nor  speak,  but  sat  at  the  feet 
of  Apollo  silent,  her  face  covered  with  burning  blushes, 
which  she  feared  would  betray  her  secret. 

Count  Valdimer  cast  a  hurried,  searching  look  around 
tl.c  studio,  and  seeing  that  no  one  was  present  but  tlje 
girl,  he  came  forward  eagerly,  with  outstretched  hands 
and  radiant  face,  saying,  «  Ah  I  this  is  a  greater  happi- 
ness than  I  dared  to  hope  for." 

«  My  papa  is  not  in,  Signore,"  said  Lisa,  rising  and 
making  an  effort  to  recover  from  her  confusion.       1 
you  wish  to  see  him,  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enougli 
to  wait  until  he  returns."     And  she  turned  towards  tlie 
door,  as  if  she  were  about  lo  leave  the  room. 

«  Pray  do  not  go,  Signorina,"  cried  Valdimer,  step- 


ST. 

ipel  of  the  Sacrament. 
I  had  seen  him,  and  how 
y,  without  the  hope  of 

)UtBide.  "  There  -comes 
'  Oil,  I  cannot  even  bo 

him." 

rd  the  old  woman  Bay, 
looking  up  she  saw  the 
r  before  her.  Then  the 
it  away  without  looking 

}  by  surprise  and  joy,  that 
jeak,  bnt  sat  at  the  feet 
ired  with  burning  bluBhes, 
y  her  secret. 

ied,  searching  look  around 
)  one  was  present  but  the 
,  with  outstretched  hands 
hi  this  is  a  greater  happi- 

r. 

lore,"  said  Lisa,  rising  and 

from  her  confusion.    "  If 

you  will  be  good  enougli 
>k.nd  she  turned  towards  the 

leave  the  room, 
tna,"  cried  Valdimer,  step 


A  DISCOVERT. 


217 


jiing  before  her,  "  I  have  been  trying  for  weeks  to  see 
you  a  moment  alone,  to  speak  to  you  without  being 
overheard,  and  now  that  my  good  fortune  has  given  mo 
the  chance,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  deprive  me  of  it." 

"  But  papa  would  be  angry,  if  he  know  I  spoke  to  a 
stranger  when  he  was  absent,"  returned  tlie  poor  girl, 
trembling  with  mingled  happiness  and  fear. 

"  But  he  need  never  know  it,  my  sweet  child." 

"  Signora  Pia  will  tell  him.  Oh  !  why  did  she  al- 
low you  to  enter  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  know  your  father  had  gone  out ;  she 
believed  him  to  be  here,  or  she  certainly  would  not 
have  ushered  me  in  with  such  confidence ;  but  since 
she  has  done  so,  permit  me  to  remain,  Signorina; 
permit  me  to  tell  you  how  I  love  you,  and  how  long  I 
have  been  trying  to  see  you.  In  all  my  visits  here, 
which  were  only  for  yon,  this  is  the  first  time  my  pa- 
tience has  been  rewarded.  Now  do  not  banish  me 
before  you  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say." 

"  I  pray  then,  Signore,  that  you  will  be  brief.  If 
my  father  should  return  and  find  you  here,  his  anger 
would  be  terrible,  for  he  has  always  foi-bidden  me  tt: 
speak  with  strangere." 

"But,  sweetest  Lisa,  we  are  not  strangers.     I  love 

you  !  I  adore  you ;  then  how  can  we  be  strangers  ?    I 

see  you  do  not  know  who  I  am." 

"  No,  Signore,  I  do  not  even  know  your  name." 
10 


218 


A  DISCOVERT . 


"  I  am  Connt  Valdimer  Nordiskoff.  I  am  the  Kn^ 
Bian  noblo  for  whom  your  father  is  making  the  stutiio 
of  Hobo." 

«*Ohl  Signore,  ia  it  posaihlo  that  yon  arc  ho?""  and 
Lisa  drew  back  with  a  sort  of  awe  in  her  face.  "  I 
did  not  kjiow  that  you  wore  a  noble.  A  poor  girl 
such  as  1  am  must  not  listen  to  your  professions  of 

love." 

Valdimer  smiled  at  her  sweet  simplicity,  and  wont 
on  :  "I  love  you,  and  I  gave  your  father  this  commis- 
sion so  that  through  it  I  might  see  you,  for  I  cannot 
live  without  yon." 

"  But  you  are  a  noblo,  and  so  rich,"  said  Lisa,  her 
sweet  earnest  xs^es  fixed  on  his  handsome  face. 

"  That  surely  is  no  objection.  It  is  miich  better  to 
be  noble  than  common,  and  rich  than  poor.  I  will 
make  you  a  lady,  my  lovely  angel,  and  give  you  all 
your  heart  can  wish  for." 

"  How  good  and  generous  you  must  be.  Why,  you 
are  giving  papa  a  fortune  for  the  Hebe." 

«  Ah  I  that  is  but  little.  My  love  for  you  is  greater 
than  all  the  wealth  of  the  world.  Now,  what  will  you 
give  me  in  retuni  1 " 

«  I  know  not,  Signore.  What  can  a  poor  girl  like 
me  give  to  one  so  noble  and  rich  as  you  are  ? " 

«Tou  can  give  me  your  sweet  love,  my  lily,  my 
fair,  pure  flower,  and  that  is  all  I  ask." 


1 

t( 
I 

c 

si 

p 

fl 

f( 
I 
tl 

81 

d 
e' 

Ic 

si 
n< 

Ic 


IT. 


A  DISCOVERT. 


219 


iskoff.    I  am  the  Kiis- 
r  is  making  tho  stutiio 

hat  yon  aro  ho  ?""  and 

ftwo  in  hor  face.     "  I 

i  noble.     A  poor  pirl 

to  your  profesBions  <if 

3t  simplicity,  and  wont 
onr  father  this  commis- 
,t  see  you,  for  I  cannot 

BO  rich,"  said  Lisa,  hor 
handsome  face. 
.     It  is  mtich  better  to 
•ich  than  poor.     I  will 
ingel,  and  give  you  all 

on  must  be.    Why,  yon 
he  Hebe." 

■  love  for  you  is  greater 
d.    Now,  what  will  you 

at  can  a  poor  girl  like 
eh  as  you  are  ? " 
veet  love,  my  lily,   my 
11 1  ask." 


"But  why  should  you  care  for  my  humble  love? 
Surely  the  proudest  in  tho  land  would  not  scorn  you  ? " 

"  I  care  not  for  the  proudest,  I  care  only  for  yon. 
Tell  mo,  Lisa,  do  you  love  me  ?  "  and  Count  Valdimcr 
took  her  pretty  white  hands  in  his  and  looked  earnest- 
ly into  her  eyes. 

The  girl  withdrew  her  hands  from  his  passionato 
clasp,  and  leaning  her  slim  young  figure  against  the 
statue  of  Apollo,  she  looked  at  him  steadily  with  her 
pure,  candid  eyes,  and  said:  "I  have  never  told  u 
falsehood,  Signoro,  and  I  know  not  how  to  now  ;  there- 
fore, I  must  say  that  I  think  I  do  love  you,  that  I  fear 
I  do,  for  I  have  thought  of  you  ever  since  I  saw  yon 
that  day  in  the  garden  behind  the  statue  of  Fauna.  I 
suppose  it  must  bo  love  that  I  feel  for  you,  but  it  is 
different  from  my  love  for  God,  the  Blessed  Virgin,  or 
even  my  father." 

"  Sweet  angel  1  and  so  it  should  be  ;  for  you  shonld 
love  me  better  than  anything  in  heaven  or  on  earth. 
Now  we  understand  each  other,  do  wo  not  ?  I  wor- 
ship, I  adoro  you,  and  you  return  my  love.  Is  that 
not  true  ? " 

"  It  must  be  as  you  say,  Signore,"  returned  Lisa, 
looking  at  him  with  worshipful  glances. 

"Do  not  call  me  Signore,  call  me  Valdimer." 

«AhI  I  dare  not." 

"But  you  shall  not  fear  me,  you  must  not.    You 


220 


A   DISCO  VERY, 


must  trust  mo  bofoi'f  i  /ly  other  on  earth,  and  you 
inimt  think  only  of  luo,  and  try  to  boo  mo  as  oftou  as 
possihlo."  ' 

"  IIow  can  I,  Sijrnoro,  without  my  father's  coiiBont?  " 

"  But  yon  innst ;  ho  must  never  know  it,  for  if  ho 
should  discover  our  love,  he  would  separate  us  forever." 

Lisa  trcmhled  and  turned  palo.  "Ah!  my  God,  if 
I  should  see  you  no  jnore." 

"  But  yon  shall,  if  you  listen  to  ino  and  do  what  I 
toll  yoti.  I  have  taken  an  apartment  on  the  other  side 
of  the  court,  whore  I  can  see  your  room.  When  your 
father  is  ahsent  draw  tho  curtaiii  of  your  window,  and 
I  will  come." 

"  And  Sipjuora  Pia,  she  will  not  admit  yon  if  she 
knows  my  fatlier  is  from  homo." 

"  But  you  must  oi)en  tho  door  for  mo  yourself  when 
she  is  engaf^od  witii  her  household  duties." 

"  That  caTinot  he  right  to  deceive  her  and  my  father." 

"  My  Lisa,  if  yon  love  mo  it  is  right.  1  must  see 
yon,  and  I  can  think  of  no  other  plan  for  tho  present. 
Now,  my  angel,  I  must  leave  you  before  your  father 
returns,  for  if  he  should  discover  us,  it  would  bo  ruin 
to  onr  hopes,  and  eternal  separation.  Go  to  your  room 
and  I  will  ring  for  yonr  woman  and  tell  her  that  I  can 
wait  no  longer  for  your  father,  and  she  will  never 
know  you  were  hero  when  I  entered.  One  kiss,  my 
sweet  love,  before  we  part,  and  remember  our  compact." 


tr. 

or  on  oarth,  and  yon 
to  BOO  mo  aa  oftou  ud 

my  fathor's  consent  ? " 
ivor  know  it,  for  if  ho 
Id  separate  us  forever." 
lo.    "  Ah !  my  God,  if 

1  to  mo  and  do  what  I 
;mont  on  tlio  other  side 
lur  room.  Wiion  yonr 
1  of  vour  window,  and 

not  admit  yon  if  she 

r  for  mo  yourself  when 
lid  duties." 

ivo  her  and  my  father." 
;  is  right.  1  must  see 
sr  plan  for  the  present, 
ou  before  yonr  father 
er  us,  it  would  bo  ruin 
tion.  Go  to  your  room 
and  tell  her  that  I  can 
jr,  and  she  will  never 
sntered.  One  kiss,  my 
amember  our  compact." 


A  DiaCOVEIiY. 


221 


Lisa  gave  him  her  liand,  and  before  ho  could  touch 
her  sweet  face  she  slipped  away  from  his  clasp  and 
dlHappcarcd  tlirough  the  door  leiidiiij,'  to  her  own  hmmu, 
hor  heart  boating  tumultuously  with  rapture,  fear,  and 

love. 

Valdimer  watched  her  out  of  sight,  with  an  expres- 
Bion  of  deep  satisfaction.  "What  an  angelic  creature 
she  is,"  ho  said ;  "  and  she  loves  mo  beyond  a  doubt. 
Now,  if  I  can  only  outwit  that  old  fiend  of  a  hunch- 
buck,  my  way  is  clear,  and  she  is  mine." 

Then  he  turned  and  touched  a  bell  on  a  table  near, 
Buuunoning  Siguora  Pia,  who  entered  immediately. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  mo  that  Signor  Hugo  was  in  ? "  ho 
asked,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  Signor  Count,  and  I  thought  ho  was.  I  did 
not  know  that  ho  had  gone  out,"  replied  tho  good 
woman,  looking  around  tho  empty  room  in  aatonish- 
mont. 

"  Well,  j'ou  BOO  he  is  not  here,  and  I  can  wait  no 
longer.  I  will  come  to-morrow,"  and  Count  Valdimer 
walked  calmly  out,  followed  by  Signora  Pia's  profuse 
apologies. 

"  That  is  singular,"  said  she,  aa  she  closed  the  door. 

"  I  thought  the  Signorina  was  tliere  with  her  father,  but 

he  has  gone  out  and  the  child  must  be  sleeping  in  her 

own  room." 

The  next  day  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  came,  accord- 


222 


A  DiaCOVERY. 


iiig  to  agreement,  for  her  first  sitting;  and  Hugo, 
almost  unwillingly,  began  to  model  a  Nemesis  out  of 
the  clay,  which  he  would  have  preferred  to  have  made 
into  something  more  gentle  and  womanly. 

"You  seem  happier  to-day,  my  friend,"  said  the 
Duchess  as  the  work  went  on. 

«I  am,  Signora,". returned  Hugo,  "  for  I  had  some 
conversation  with  Lisa,  and  the  sweet  child  was  so 
centle  and  loving  that  I  think  ray  fears  were  ground- 
less.  Last  night  she  was  as  bright  and  happy  as  ever, 
and  this  morning  her  voice  has  been  ringing  through 
the  house  as  clear  and  joyous  as  a  lark." 

"  Perhaps  you  promised  her  some  amusement,  and 
that  expectation  will  make  a  young  girl  merry,  if  any- 
thing will." 

« I  promised  her  nothing.  I  only  appealed  to  her 
love  for  me,  to  her  noble,  generous  nature." 

"  Then  I  was  mistaken  about  the  lover? " 

« I  think  so,  Signom,  or  rather  I  am  sure  of  it." 
Then  Hugo  remembered  his  own  doubts,  and  his  voice 
trembled  slightly  as  he  added,  "  She  is  such  a  child,  and 
so  truthful,  that  she  would  never  deceive  me ;  no,  I  will 
not  wrong  her  by  suspecting  her.  If  there  is  any- 
thing on  her  mind,  I  think  she  will  tell  me  some  time 
of  her  own  free  will." 

"  That  is  a  sensible  view  to  take  of  it,"  returned  the 
Duchess.    "  But  still  you  must  not  neglect  your  dijty 


UY. 

5t  sitting;  and  Hugo, 

odd  a  Nemesis  out  of 

)referrod  to  have  made 

womanly. 

my  friend,"  said  the 

lugo,  "  for  I  had  some 
le  sweet  child  was  so 
my  fears  were  ground- 
ght  and  happy  as  ever, 
been  ringing  through 
.  a  lark." 

■  some  amusement,  and 
ung  girl  merry,  if  any- 

I  only  appealed  to  her 
ous  nature." 
the  lover?" 

ther  I  am  sure  of  it." 
'n  doubts,  and  his  voice 
She  is  such  a  child,  and 
r  deceive  me ;  no,  I  will 
her.  If  there  is  any- 
will  tell  me  some  time 

ike  of  it,"  returned  the 
not  neglect  your  dijty 


A  DiaOOVERV. 


223 


by  trusting  her  too  far;  such  a  lovely  girl  can  scarcely 
be  without  admirers,  and  she  may  have  seen  some  one 
in  the  gardens  or  in  the  churches." 

Tlie  hunchback  grew  uneasy  as  she  went  on,  and 
looked  around  restlessly.  «I  always' go  with  her  to 
the  gardens,  and  I  select  a  retired  spot  where  there  are 
,jo  gallants  to  look  at  her,  and  ii  the  churches  she  is 
very  devout  and  pious.    I  am  sure  she  thinks  of  otlier 

things  there." 

The  Duchess  smiled  a  little  sadly.  "I  see,  my 
friend,  that  you  do  not  understand  a  woman's  nature. 
The  most  truthful  will  be  hypocrites  in  affairs  of  the 
heart.  I  only  wished  to  put  you  on  your  guard.  I  am 
a  woman,  and  I  underetaud  their  ways.  It  will  do  no 
harm  to  watch  her.' 

« I  shall  watch  her,  never  fear.  She  will  have  but  a 
poor  chance  if  she  tries  to  deceive  me;  but  I  would 
rather  trust  her  than  suspect  her,"  returned  Hugo, 
working  nervously  and  evidently  ill  at  ease. 

«  Let  mo  see  the  child,"  said  the  Duchess  at  length ; 
« I  am  interested  in  her,  for  from  all  you  say  of  Ker, 
she  must  be  as  good  as  she  is  lovely." 

"  Ah  I  Signora,  you  are  most  kind.  If  she  is  fortu- 
nate enough  to  find  a  friend  in  you,  I  shall  be  deeply 
grateful.    Shall  I  send  for  her  at  once  ? " 

«  As  you  like.  I  am  weary  of  sitting  to-day,  and  am 
not  quite  equal  to  the  character  I  am  personating, 


.smmm^u^'issistemtmmmii^^' 


224 


A  DISO OVERT. 


therefore  I  should  like  to  see  her  while  I  am  in  a  gen- 
tle mood." 

When  Lisa  entered  the  studio,  at  her  father's  sum- 
mons, she  knew  she  was  about  to  meet  the  Duchess  of 
Castellara,  the  most  beautiful  lady  in  Florence,  and 
she  was  in  a  little  tremor  of  excited  expectation,  which 
made  her  lovelier  than  ever,  adding  lustre  to  her  eyes 
and  a  deeper  tint  of  rose  to  her  cheek.  Hugo  looked 
at  her  with  pride  as  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to 
the  lady,  saying,  "  Tins  is  my  child.  Duchess.  Lisa, 
this  is  the  Duchess  of  Castellara,  who  is  good  enough 
to  express  an  interest  in  you." 

The  girl  raised  her  sweet,  blue  eyes  timidly  to  the 
proud,  beautiful  face  that  looked  down  upon  her  at 
the  first  glance,  and  uttered  a  little  cry  of  surprise  and 
delight.  "  Oh !  papa,  I  have  seen  the  Duchess  before  ; 
she  is  the  kind  lady  who  gave  me  the  rosary  in  the 
Church  of  San  Miniato." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  can  ret  smber  me  1  It  was 
years  ago,"  returned  the  Duchess,  with  a  proud,  cold 
look,  "and  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  circumstance; 
but  now  that  you  speak  of  it,  I  have  a  recollection  of 
giving  a  child  some  trifling  present  there." 

"  I  have  it  here  now,  Signora,"  said  Lisa,  drawing  it 
from  her  bosom ;  "  I  have  worn  it  always,  and  I  have 
never  forgotten  you." 

While  the  girl  was  speaking  Hugo  watched  both  her 


ay. 


A  DISC  OVERT. 


225 


r  while  I  am  in  a  gen- 

io,  at  her  father's  sum- 
to  meet  the  Duchess  of 
lady  iu  Florence,  and 
ited  expectation,  which 
ding  lustre  to  her  eyes 
r  cheek.  Hugo  looked 
r  hand  and  led  her  to 
child,  Duchess.  Lisa, 
■a,  who  is  good  enough 

lue  eyes  timidly  to  the 
ked  down  upon  her  at 
^ttle  cry  of  surprise  and 
en  the  Duchess  before  ; 
J  me  the  rosary  in  the 

ret  jmber  me  1  It  was 
less,  with  a  proud,  cold 
ten  the  circumstance ; 
I  have  a  recollection  of 
sent  there." 

I,"  said  Lisa,  drawing  it 
n  it  always,  and  I  have 

Hugo  watched  both  her 


and  the  Duchess  closely.  What  could  bo  the  meaning 
of  that  strange  look  on  the  face  of  the  woman— the 
mingled  expression  of  wonder,  surprise,  anger,  and 
hate  ?  %irely  there  was  nothing  in  the  sweet-voiced, 
gentle  girl,  with  her  eyes  full  of  admiration,  her  smiling 
lips,  her  eager,  happy  recognition,  to  call  forth  such 
emotions.  There  was  no  need  now  of  the  Duchess 
assuming  the  character  she  wished  to  represent;  it  was 
there  clearly  enough— the  Nemesis  stood  before  him, 
a  personation  of  vindictive  scorn  and  revenge. 

Suddenly  Lisa  stopped,  as  though  a  cold  hand  had 
been  laid  upon  her,  for  her  eyes  met  those  of  the 
Duchess,  and  her  words  of  eager  delight  seemed  to 
freeze  on  her  lips.  Turning  to  her  father,  who  stood 
behind  her,  pale  and  troubled,  she  looked  appealingly 
from  one  to  the  other,  as  though  she  would  ask  some 
explanation  of  this  singular  scene. 

Then  the  Duchess,  seeming  to  remember  where  she 
was,  and  becoming  conscious  that  her  angry  look  had 
attracted  the  girl's  attention,  made  an  efEort  to  recover 
herself,  and  said,  in  a  voice  of  forced  calmness,  "You 
have  grown  into  a  charming  young  woman,  and  I  am 
sure  you  must  be  very  good  and  a  great  comfort  to 

your  father." 

Lisa  made  no  reply  to  this  formal  speech,  but  stood, 
silent  and  alarmed,  twisting  the  rosary  around  her  fin- 
gera. 


226 


A  DISCOVERT. 


For  a  moment  neither  of  the  three  "^poke.  Then  tlie 
Duchess,  with  an  impetnous  movement,  turned  to  Hugo 
and  said  :  "  Is  your  daughter  like  her  mother?  " 

The  hunchback  started  as  though  lie  had  received  a 
blow,  and  shivered  slightly,  then,  without  looking  up, 
he  replied:  "  She  is  fairer,  Signora." 

"  There  is  no  resemblance  to  you  in  her  face,"  con- 
tinued the  Duchess,  with  a  look  of  strange  scrutiny. 

"  No,  none  whatever,"  said  Hugo  in  a  low  tone,  with 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  floor.  "  How  could  one  like 
her  resemble  such  an  ill-favored  being  as  I  am  ? " 

"  Oh,  papa,  why  do  you  speak  so  ?  It  hurts  me ;  I  am 
unhappy  here.  Pray  let  me  go  to  my  room,"  cried  Lisa, 
turning  suddenly  from  the  Duchess,  and  going  close  to 
her  father. 

"  There  is  something  in  this  air  that  suffocates  me. 
Open  the  door,  Signer  Hugo ;  call  my  servant,  and  I 
will  go,"  said  the  Duchess,  rising  hastily.  "  1  will  in- 
form you  when  I  can  sit  again,"  and  without  glancing 
at  Lisa,  she  bowed  coldly  to  the  hunchback  and  left  the 
studio. 

"  Oh,  papa,  I  am  afraid  of  her,"  cried  the  trembling 
girl,  clinging  to  her  father  as  the  door  closed  upon  the 
Duchess.  "  Did  you  see  how  she  looked  at  me  1  Her 
eyes  were  like  flames  of  fire." 

"  Hush,  my  child ;  your  timidity  made  you  imagine 
that,"  said  Hugo,  soothing  her  gently.    "  She  is  a  great 


ERT. 

I  three  "spoke.  Then  ttie 
(voinent,  turned  to  Hugo 
ko  her  mother?" 
ough  lie  had  rqceived  a 
en,  without  looking  up, 
nora." 

to  you  in  her  face,"  con- 
k  of  strange  scrutiny, 
lugo  in  a  low  tone,  with 
"  IIow  could  one  like 
d  being  as  I  am  ? " 
Ic  so  1  It  hurts  me ;  I  am 
to  my  room,"  cried  Lisa, 
chess,  and  going  close  to 

air  that  suffocates  me. 

call  my  servant,  and  I 
ng  hastily.  "  1  will  in- 
"  and  without  glancing 
I  hunchback  and  left  the 

er,"  cried  the  trombling 
he  door  closed  upon  the 
ihe  looked  at  me  ?     Her 


A  DIBO OVERT. 


227 


lady,  and  very  cold  and  proud,  that  is  all,  and  my  little 
Lisa  is  not  accustomed  to  the  mannere  of  such  as  she." 

"  But  she  was  so  gentle  and  kind  to  me  in  the  church 
when  she  gave  me  the  rosary." 

"  You  were  but  a  child  then,  and  cannot  well  re- 
member. Now,  go  to  your  room  and  think  no  more  of 
it.  When  you  know  her  better  you  will  love  and  rev- 
erence her  as  I  do."  s         ;     !    V. 

«  Never  1  papa ;  1  shall  never  love  her,  because  I  fear 
her,"  returned  the  girl,  going  away  slowly  and  sadly. 

Hugo  stood  still  where  his  daughter  had  left  him  in 
deep  and  painful  thought,  his  lips  compressed,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.  Suddenly  he  stooped  and  picked 
up  something.  It  was  a  folded  slip  of  paper.  He 
opened  it  and  read : 

"  I  love  you,  and  I  must  see  yon.  To-morrow,  at  Ave  Maria, 
I  wiU  be  in  the  Church  of  San  Marco,  and  I  BhaU  look  for  you  in 
the  Chapel  of  the  Sacrament." 

With  a  groan  of  agony  he  staggei-ed  back  against 
the  wall,  and  pressing  his  hands  to  his  forehead  he 
cried :  "  My  God  !  my  God  I  Has  she  deceived  me, 
has  my  child  deceived  me  1 " 


idily  made  you  imagine 
gently.    "  She  is  a  great 


228 


A  MTSTBRT. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A  MTBTEBT. 

JIGNORA  PIA  sat  in  her  little  room,  knitting, 
and  thinking  of  the  Duchess  of  Castellara. 
She  had  opened  the  door  to  let  her  out,  and 
her  manner  was  that  of  one  quite  unnerved.  What 
could  have  happened  in  the  studio  to  disturb  her 
to  such  a  degree  ?  Had  her  eccentric  master  said  some- 
thing to  ofEend  the  great  lady  ?  He  was  so  peculiar, 
so  moody,  at  times  so  sullen  and  disagreeable,  though 
none  knew  of  his  genuine  kindness  of  heart,  his  self- 
denial  and  patience,  as  well  as  she  did,  yet  often  and 
often  she  was  fretted  and  unhappy  herself  at  his  un- 
gracious manner.  And  only  the  day  before  he  had 
sent  Lisa  weeping  to  her  room,  and  the  poor  girl  had 
mourned  heraelf  almost  ill  because  her  father  was 
angered  at  her  without  any  apparent  cause.  What 
could  ail  him  lately  ?  His  prosperity,  his  good  fortune, 
instead  of  making  him  happy,  seemed  to  have  soured 
and  annoyed  him. 

A  rich  Russian  noble  had  offered  him  a  fortune  for 
a  statue ;  and  now  the  Duchess  of  Castellara,  the 
great  lady  whose  slightest  glance  was  a  favor,  had 


7. 


A  MYSTBBr. 


220 


XV. 


3r  little  room,  knitting, 
Duchess  of  Castellara. 
x)r  to  let  her  oat,  and 
uite  nnnerved.  What 
studio  to  disturb  her 
intriu  master  said  some- 
He  was  so  peculiar, 
i  disagreeable,  though 
ness  of  heart,  his  self- 
she  did,  yet  often  and 
ippy  herself  at  his  un- 
lie  day  before  he  had 
and  the  poor  girl  had 
scause  her  father  was 
.pparent  cause.  What 
•erity,  his  good  fortune, 
eemed  to  have  soured 

3red  him  a  fortune  for 
3SS  of  Castellara,  the 
[ice  was  a  favor,  had 


come  to  him  to  sit  for  a  ritmtto,  had  spoken  to  him  in 
the  kindest  manner,  as  she  had  heard  the  day  before 
when  she  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  after  one  sit- 
ting, had  gone  away  in  a  state  of  strange  excitement. 
What  could  it  all  mean  ? 

While  she  was  thinking  this  over,  the  door  suddenly 
opened  and  Hugo  entered  from  the  studio.  At  the 
first  glance  Slgnora  Pia  cried  out :  "  Why,  Signore, 
what  is  the  matter,  are  you  ill  1 " 

His  face  was  white  and  dmwn,  his  whole  body 
trembling  convulsively,  and  his  eyes  wild  and  red 
like  those  of  an  aiigry  animal.  Ho  held  a  slip  of 
paper  in  his  hand,  which  he  looked  at  in  a  blind  sort  of 
way,  as  though  he  could  not  read  the  charactere,  which 
were  legible  enough,  the  clear  flowing  lines  of  a  man's 

writing.  ^ 

«  Have  you  ever  seen  this  before  1 "  he  cried  savage- 
ly, thrusting  the  paper  into  her  hand. 

Signora  Pia  put  on  her  glasses  and  looked  it  over  in 
a  bewildered  way,  scarcely  understanding  its  meaning. 

«  No,  Signore,"  she  said,  at  length,  "  I  never  saw 
this  before.    What  does  it  mean  1 " 

"Woman,  are  you  telling  me  a  falsehood  ? "  shouted 
Hugo,  his  angry  face  uplifted  more  than  usual,  and 
his  eyes  glaring  with  rage. 

"  A  falsehood,  Signore !  Why  should  I  tell  you  a 
falsehood  i"  returned  Signora  Pia  calmly,  though  in- 


...^ 


280 


A  MYaTBRT. 


wardly  she  trembled  with  fear.  "  I  do  not  know  in 
the  least  what  this  paper  means,  and  I  have  never  seen 
it  before,  as  sure  as  the  Holy  Virgin  hears  me." 

"  How  came  it  here,  then  ?  How  came  it  on  the 
floor  of  my  studio,  where  I  just  found  it? " 

"  I  know  not,  Signore,"  replied  the  woman,  unflinch- 
ingly- 

"  Has  any  one  ever  been  here  during  my  absence  1 " 

"  No  one,  excepting  the  Russian  noble,  who  waited 
for  yon  a  moment  yesterday." 

"Did  he  see  Lisa?" 

« Certainly  not,  Signore ;  the  child  was  sleeping  in 
her  own  room." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ? " 

"  Quite  sure.  I  went  to  her  directly  he  was  gone. 
She  was  lying  on  her  sofa,  her  face  covered,  and  fast 

asleep." 

"  Why  did  you  let  him  in  during  my  absence  ?  Have 
I  not  told  you  repeatedly  never  to  allow  any  one  to  enter 
when  I  was  away  ? " 

"  Yes,  Signore,  and  I  have  always  obeyed  you.  I 
thought  you  were  in  your  studio  when  I  opened  the 
door  for  him." 

« In  the  future  be  more  careful.  The  child  might 
have  been  there  alone.  Never  let  such  a  thing  happen 
again.  But  this  letter,  where  did  it  come  from,  how 
did  it  get  on  my  floor,  who  does  it  belong  to  1 " 


A  MT8TERY. 


231 


"I  do  not  know  in 
,  and  I  have  never  seen 
irgin  hears  me." 
IIow  came  it  ou  the 
found  it  1" 
d  the  woman,  unflinch- 

I  during  my  absence  1 " 
jian  noble,  who  waited 


>  child  was  sleeping  in 


directly  he  was  gone, 
face  covered,  and  fast 

ing  my  absence  ?    Have 
to  allow  any  one  to  enter 

always  obeyed  you.  I 
iio  when  I  opened  the 

eful.  The  child  might 
let  such  a  thing  happen 
did  it  come  from,  how 
8  it  belong  to  1" 


«  Might  not  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  have  dropped 
it,  Signore  %    She  has  just  left." 

«  True,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Hugo,  eagerly 
seizing  the  idea,  and  appearing  to  find  some  comfort 
from  it.  "  Yes,  it  may  have  been  addressed  to  her,  and 
she  may  have  dropped  it  accidentally.  It  is  a  gentle- 
man's writing.  The  paper  is  evidently  a  leaf  torn 
from  a  pocket-book,  and  it  has  a  subtle  odor  about  it, 
such  as  the  wealthy  use." 

Tlien  he  read  it  again  thoughtfully  and  slowly, 
Bceming  to  weigh  the  words  well.  After  a  moment  he 
looked  up  and  asked  quite  calmly :  "  Have  you  been 
lately  to  San  Marco  with  Lisa  %  " 

"  Not  very  lately,  I  think.  Let  me  see,  it  has  been 
more  than  a  week  since  we  were  there." 

"Who  proposed  going  to  San  Marco,  you  or  the 
Signorina  1 " 

"  I  did.    I  usually  go  there  to  Vespers,  because  it  ia 

near." 

« In  which  chapel  did  you  pray  ?  " 

« I  do  not  just  remember,  but  I  think  it  was  the 
Chapel  of  the  Sacrament." 

Hugo  turned  pale  again,  and  again  the  lurid  fire 
burned  in  his  eyes.  "  Was  it  Lisa's  wish  to  pray  there 
in  preference  to  the  other  altars  ? " 

« I  think  not.  I  believe  it  was  only  accidental  our 
going  into  that  chapel." 


Ofmrn^MtimiiiiMiiiiti- 


232 


A  MTaTERT. 


"  Was  any  one  there  bosidos  youraelveB  1 " 

"  No,  S  ignore,  we  were  quite  alone.  It  was  nearly 
dark,  and  the  chapol  w«j  empty." 

"  You  are  certain  of  that — there  was  no  one  in  the 
chapol  i » 

"  Ah,  now  I  remember,  a  man  entered  a  moment, 
and  knelt  down  and  repeated  &  pater  noater  or  two." 

lingo  started  and  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"  Did  he  remain  long  ? " 

"  Only  a  moment."  "  -  ■     . 

"  Was  he  a  young  man  i " 

"  I  did  not  notice  him,  for  I  was  engaged  with  my 
prayers,  but  now  I  think  of  it  I  believe  he  was  old. 
Yes,  I  believe  his  hair  was  white." 

"  Did  Lisa  appear  to  notice  him  % " 

"  She,  Signore  ?  No,  indeed.  I  remember  how  devout 
the  dear  child  was.  She  never  took  her  eyes  from  the 
face  of  the  Saviour.  I  doubt  if  she  knew  whether  any 
one  came  in  or  went  out." 

"And  you  are  sure  no  communication  passed  be- 
tween them,  that  she  did  not  linger,  or  speak  to  this 
man  ? " 

"  As  sure  as  I  am  that  I  live ;  but  if  you  doubt  me, 
Signore " 

"  Woman,  if  I.  thought  you  would  deceive  me,  1 
would  tear  your  heart  out ! "  hissed  Hugo,  coming  close 
to  her  and  grasping  her  arm.    "  I  have  trusted  you 


r. 

ourselves  1 " 

alone.    It  was  nearly 

Qre  was  no  ono  in  the 

in  entered  a  moment, 
<)ater  noater  or  two." 
3r  keenly. 


A  MY8TERY. 


233 


was  engaged  with  my 
I  believe  he  was  old. 

im?" 

I  remember  how  devout 
took  her  eyes  from  the 
she  knew  whether  any 

munication  passed  be- 
inger,  or  speak  to  this 

;  but  if  you  doubt  mo, 

L  would  deceive  me,  1 

aed  Hugo,  coming  close 

"  I  have  trusted  you 


niid  loft  my  child  in  your  care  without  fear ;  if  you 
have  deceived  nio  and  harm  comes  to  her,  my  veu- 
goaiioo  will  bo  terrible." 

"  If  you  think  that  of  mo,8ignoro,  I  had  bettor  leave 
you  at  once,"  said  Sigiiora  I'ia,  drawing  away  with  fear 
from  his  grasp.  "  After  all  these  ycaw,  it  is  hard  to 
be  treated  with  suspicion." 

There  was  dignity  in  her  manner  and  truth  in  her 
voice ;  and  Hugo,  in  spite  of  his  anger,  was  somewhat 
assured.  "Pardon  me,"  he  said,  in  a  calmor  tone, 
"if  I  have  wronged  you,  if  I  have  done  you  an  injus- 
tice ;  but  this  mystery  maddens  me,  and  renders  self- 
control  almost  impossible." 

"  Signore,  you  do  the  child  a  wrong  as  well  as  my- 
self. I  would  stake  my  life  on  her  innocence,  and 
that  she  knows  no  more  of  this  letter  than  I  do." 

«You  believe  that  firmly,  do  you?  You  believe 
this  never  was  addressed  to  her?  " 

"Certainly;  who  would  write  such  nonsense  to  a 

child  1" 

"You  are  a  woman,  Signora,  and  I  thought  she 
might  have  made  a  confidant  of  you,"  continued  the 
hunchback,  looking  down  dejectedly.  « I  thought  she 
might  open  her  heart  to  yoa  when  she  would  not  to  me." 

"  She  has  nothing  to  confide ;  her  heart  is  as  clear 
and  open  as  the  heavens ;  dear  child,  I  dare  say  she 
has  never  thought  of  love,  let  alone  receiving  such  a 


f' 


S84 


A  MTSrSRY. 


ii 


M    ^ 


wicked,  Billy  letter  aa  tlint.  Wh}',  if  hIio  hail,  she  could 
not  have  kept  it  to  heiijclf,  alio  would  have  told  you  of 
it  at  once.'' 

"  But  why  has  she  Bcciucd  so  sad  and  absont-mindcil 
of  late  ?  I  feared  Boiiiothing  was  wrong  before  I  found 
this." 

"It  was  but  a  young  girl's  mood.  She  is  happy 
enough  now.  Only  this  morning  she  told  me  if  she 
had  wings  she  could  Hy,  her  heart  was  so  light." 
.  Hugo's  face  softened,  and  the  teare  came  into  hia 
eyes,  as  he  said :  "  Your  words  give  uio  comfort,  and 
relieve  my  heart  of  a  terrible  load.  1  will  trust  the 
child.  I  will  not  thii»k  that  she  could  deceive  mc. 
Say  nothing  to  her  about  this  letter,  nothing  about  our 
convereation.  I  would  not  make  her  unhappy  by  ap- 
pearing to  suspect  her."  And  after  glancing  at  the 
paper  again,  he  folded  it  and  put  it  in  an  inner  pocket 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  though  he  intended  to  dismiss 
the  subject.  *■ 

After  that,  several  days  passed  away  without  any- 
thing taking  place  to  disturb  the  peace  of  the  humble 
household  of  the  artist.  Lisa,  with  a  face  all  sunshine, 
posed  for  the  llebe,  and  the  hunchback  went  on  rapidly 
with  his  work,  now  that  his  mind  was  at  ease,  and  his 
confidence  in  his  child  restored. 

One  day,  the  Duchess  came  to  sit  again  for  the 
Nemesis,  and  when  she  entered  Hugo  felt  as  though 


RY. 

liy,  if  hIio  hail,  hIio  couU 
I  would  have  told  you  of 

}  sad  and  absont-mindcil 
caa  wrong  boforo  I  found 

'h  mood.  She  is  happy 
iiing  eho  told  ine  if  she 
uart  was  so  light." 
tho  tears  caiiio  into  his 
Ib  give  mo  comfort,  and 
D  load.  I  will  trust  tho 
sho  could  deceive  mc. 
letter,  nothing  about  our 
ako  her  unhappy  by  ap- 
id  after  glancing  at  tho 
put  it  in  an  inner  pocket 
h  he  intended  to  dismiss 

issed  away  without  any- 
the  peace  of  the  humble 
with  a  face  all  sunshine, 
mchback  went  on  rapidly 
lind  was  at  ease,  and  his 
d. 

ue  to  sit  again  for  the 
ed  Hugo  felt  as  though 


A  MYSTBllY. 


285 


ft  cold  blast  had  entered  with  her,  for  she  did  not  seem 
in  tho  least  like  tho  lady  whoso  memory  ho  had  wor- 
ghipi>cd  all  tliCHo  years.     She  was  no  longer  the  Angel 
of  tho  Church;  sho  was  rather  a  Nenjoois  than  tho 
divinely  compussionato  being  who  had  won  his  soul 
from  its  dark  intention.     No  sooner  had  she  C(jme  into 
Ills  presence  than  ho  began  to  feel  ill  at  ease  and  fear- 
ful.    Tho  glance  of  her  clear,  cold  eye  chilled  him. 
Tlie  look  of  scorn  about  her  mouth  and  dilated  nostrils 
uiado  him  shiver.    What  was  tho  power,  the  peculiar 
fascination  she  exorcised  over  him?    Perhaps  it  was 
tho  genius  of  tho  artist  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  his 
subject— his  soul  in  full  harmony  with  his  work,  her 
impei-sonation  in  rapjwrt  with  his  intention.     He  could 
not  describe  nor  understand  tho  strange  emotions  that 
seenied  to  overwhelm  him  when  in  her  presence.    Yet, 
in  spite  of  all,  the  work  grew  into  fearful  perfection 
under  his  hand,  and  tho  plastic  clay  was  fast  changing 
into  the  terrible  goddess  of  revenge. 

Tho  Duchess  seemed  to  feel  tho  deepest  interest  in 
the  statue,  coming  often  and  sitting  patiently,  as  long 
as  the  artist  desired  her  to.  They  scarcely  ever  spoko 
together,  for  the  work  demanded  all  their  attention. 
The  subject  of  Lisa  seemed  to  be  forgoUeu  by  her,  for 
she  never  niontioned  the  girl  nor  referred  in  any  way 
to  their  meeting,  and  the  unpleasant  impression  each 
had  made  on  the  other. 


236 


A  MYSTERY. 


%^^ 


I': 


.  One  day,  coming  in  late,  she  glanoed  around  tho 
Btudio,  and  said :  "  Are  there  violets  here  ?  I  smell  a 
subtle  odor  of  violets." 

.  « There  are  none  here,  Signora,"  Hugo  replied,  as 
he  wheeled  his  work  into  position  ;  "  but  I  suppose  it 
is  the  fragrance  of  them  clinging  about  my  clothes.  I 
bought  a  bunch  for  Lisa  when  I  was  out.  The  child  is 
very  fond  of  them,  and  I  like  to  gratify  her  when  I 
can." 

The  Duchess  made  no  reply,  but  took  her  place, 
sterner,  paler,  and  more  haughty  than  usual.  That 
day,  when  she  was  about  leaving,  Hugo  thought  of  the 
letter  that  he  had  found  on  the  floor  and  which  he  had 
kept  concealed  ever  since,  and  an  irresistible  desire  to 
know  if  it  belonged  to  her  took  possession  of  him. 

Taking  it  from  its  hiding-place  and  handing  it 
timidly  to  her,  he  said,  "  I  found  this  paper.  Duchess, 
one  day  after  you  had  gone,  near  the  \  lace  where  you 
were  sitting.    Does  it  belong  to  you  ?  "■ 

She  tf>ok  it  and  unfolded  it  carelessly,  looked  at  it 
with  dilated  eyes,  reading  it  over  and  over,  her  face 
paler  than  the  Nemesis  before  her,  and  then,  with 
flashing  scorn,  she  turned  upon  the  trembling  Hugo,  and 
cried,  "  How  dare  you  think  that  it  belonged  to  me  % " 

"  Pardon  me,  Signora,  1  did  not  mean  to  offend  you. 
I  only  thought  that  you  might  know  to  whom  it  wad 
addressed,  and  I  had  a  reason  for  wishing ^" 


IF. 


A  MYSTERY. 


237 


:ie  glanoed  around  tho 
ioleta  here  ?    I  smell  a 


ora 


Hugo  replied,  as 

ion  ;  "  but  I  suppose  it 

ig  about  my  clothes.    I 

[  was  out.    The  child  is 

to  gratify  her  when  I 

ly,  but  took  her  place, 
whty  than  usual.  That 
ig,  Hugo  thought  of  the 
I  floor  and  which  he  had 

au  irresistible  desire  to 
c  possession  of  him. 
■place  and  handing  it 
nd  this  paper,  Duchess, 
jar  the  \  lace  where  you 
:oyou?"- 

it  carelessly,  looked  at  it 
)ver  and  over,  her  face 
)re  her,  and  then,  with 
the  trembling  Hugo,  and 
liat  it  belonged  to  me  ? " 
1  not  mean  to  offend  you. 
it  know  to  whom  it  wa^ 

for  wishing " 


«I  do  know,"  interrupted  the  Dnehess,  harshly; 
"  but  I  would  have  yon  understand  that  it  was  not  in- 
tended for  ray  eye ;  however,  I  am  acquainted  with  the 
writer,  and  I  will  return  it.  Say  nothing  about  it.  It 
WU8  carelessly  lost,  but  it  will  be  better  kept  now." 

«  Slie  is  angry  because  slie  thinks  I  read  it,"  said 
Hugo  to  himself,  after  she  went  away.  "  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  these  noble,  high-born  ladies  have  love  affairs, 
Biich  as  an  honest  girl  of  the  people  would  scorn  to 
eiio-ao-e  in  ?  Had  the  letter  not  belonged  to  her  she 
would  scarcely  have  been  so  angry  at  my  having  seen 
it.  If  it  were  not  that  my  heart  is  at  rest  concerning 
Lisa,  I  should  regret  having  returned  it  to  her,  for  she 
would  never  have  known  that  she  lost  it  here,  and  I 
should  not  have  incurred  her  displeasure  by  finding  it.*' 

More  than  a  month  passed  away  after  Hugo  had  re- 
turned the  letter  to  the  Duchess  and  nothing  of  impor- 
tance had  transpired  to  disturb  his  serenity.  He  was 
happy  again,  that  is,  as  happy  as  he  could  be  with  a 
vague  fear  hanging  over  him,  that  never  left  him  quite 
at  rest.  Lisa  was  contented  and  cheerful ;  there  were 
no  more  complaints  of  her  dreary  life ;  she  seemed 
now  to  love  the  vast  space  within  the  four  walls  of  the 
studio  better  than  any  other  spot,  for  Signora  Pia  often 
said  that  formerly,  when  her  father  was  absent,  she  had 
liked  to  come  and  sit  with  her  in  the  sunshine  on  the 
little  loggia,  but  now  she  preferred  to  remain  in  the 


i 


I! 


SI 


238 


A  MYSTERY. 


stndio  alono  with  her  books,  and  slie  did  not  disturb 
the  child,  lildng  to  see  her  happy  in  her  own  way. 

One  day,  Hugo  had  been  out ;  being  late  in  Decem- 
ber the  days  were  short,  and  it  was  near  dark  when  he 
reached  the  Via  San  Gallo.     As  he  turned  itito  the 
street  he  was  surprised  to  see  standing,  not  far  from  his 
door,  an  elegant  equipage,  whose  livery  he  immediately 
recognized  as  that  of  the  Duchess  of  Castollara.     What 
could  have  brought  her  to  his  house  at  that  hour,  and 
especially  as  she  had  been   there  in  the  morning? 
While  the  hunchback  was  wondering  over  this  strange 
incident  a  man,  closely  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  came  out  of 
the  door  thp'   'od  into  his  own  court,  and  hurried  by 
him  without   :      1' ice  or  sign   of  recognition.     Ap- 
proaching tn(  .ri-ge  where  the  driver  and  footman 
sat  like  statues,  he  made  a  sign  which  was  just  visible 
to  Hugo  in  the  gatheriiig  darkness,  and  then  went  on 
swiftly  toward  the  piazza  San  Marco,  where  he  was 
soon   joined  by  the  carriage,  into  which  the  hunch- 
back, who  had  followed  after  him  in  the  shadow  of 
the  l>uildings,  saw  him  enter  and  drive  rapidly  away. 

Bewildered  with  surprise,  Hugo  turned  and  retraced 
his  steps  toward  his  house,  thinking  that  there  ho 
would  find  an  explanation  of  the  mystery. 

Scarcely  had  he  touched  the  bell-cord,  whenSignora 
Pia  answered  his  summons  with  a  pale  and  troubled 
face. 


iiMWSbl^ 


T. 

id  she  did  not  disturb 
y  in  lier  own  way. 
;  being  late  in  Decem- 
kvas  near  dark  when  he 
is  he  tnrned  itito  the 
anding,  not  far  from  his 
e  livery  he  immediately 
iss  of  Castellara.     Wliat 
honse  at  that  hour,  and 
liere  in  the  morning? 
dering  over  this  strange 
1  in  a  cloak,  came  out  of 
n  conrt,  and  hurried  by 
n   of  recognition.     Ap- 
the  driver  and  footman 
n  which  was  just  visible 
mess,  and  then  went  on 
in  Marco,  where  he  was 
into  which  the  hunch- 
r  him  in  the  shadow  of 
nd  drive  rapidly  away, 
[ugo  turned  and  retraced 
thinking  that   there  ho 
the  mystery. 

3  bell-cord,  when  Signora 
rith  a  pale  and  troubled 


A  MYSTERY . 


239 


«  Have  you  just  now  returned.  Signer  Hugo  ? "  she 

asked. 
"But  this  moment,"  he  replied.     "Who  has  been 

hcrer' 

«  That  is  just  what  I  wish  to  ask  you,"  returned  the 
woman,  dropping  her  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper. 

«  Wliat  can  you  mean  ?  Explain  yourself,"  cried 
Hugo  excitedly.  i ;       .  ^^ 

"I  will,  Signore,  if  you  can  listen  calmly  to  what  I 
have  to  say,  and  not  be  hasty  in  your  judgment." 

"  Go  on,  for  Heaven's  sake,  and  1  will  be  as  quiet  as 

you  wish." 

"  During  most  of  the  time  that  you  were  absent  I 
was  working  in  my  room,  and  at  last  finishing  what 
I  had  to  do,  and  supposing  you  had  not  returned,  I 
thought  I  would  go  and  sit  with  the  Signorina  a  little 
while  in  the  studio.     As  I  had  my  hand  on  the  d(K)r 
and  was  about  to  enter  I  heard  some  one  talking  with- 
in—in a  low  voice,  it  is  true,  but  loud  enough  for  me 
to  know  that  a  man  was  speaking,  and  thinking  that 
you  had  come  back  and  let  yourself  in,  as  you  Borae- 
times  do,  I  went  away,  not  wishing  to  disturb  you. 
After  a  little  while  I  heard  the  outer  door  close  softly, 
and  supposing  yon  had  gone  out  again,  I  went  the 
second  time  to  the  studio,  and  found  it  empty.     This 
surprised  me,  so  I  knocked  on  the  Signorina's  door  to 
see  if  she  was  in  her  room.    She  was  there,  and  bade 


f" 


240 


A  MTSTEHT. 


11; 
II 


m 


d 
If 


mo  enter,  saying  that  she  was  but  just  awakened,  al- 
though she  did  not  seem  in  the  least  like  ouo  aroused 

from  sleep." 

«  Go  on.  Wliat  else  have  you  to  say  1  said  lingo, 
in  a  suppressed  voice,  the  fire  of  anger  burning  in 
his  eyes,  and  his  face  drawn  and  ghastly  in  its  pallor. 
«'  Perhaps  I  had  better  leave  you  to  discover  who  was 
with  her.  I  asked  the  child  no  questions,  I  could  not 
bear  to;  but  I  am  faithful  to  you,  Signoi-c,  and  I  am 
faithful  to  Lisa,  therefore  I  tell  you  of  this." 

"You  mean  to  say  that,  during  my  absence,  she  re- 
ceived a  visitor  in  the  studio  1 " 

^  I  fear  so,  for  some  one  was  there  with  her  and  yon 
Bay  it  was  not  yourself.    I  know  not  who  it  was,  but  I 
heard  a  man's  voice  distinctly  talking  with  her. 
«  Have  you  any  suspicion  who  it  was  ? " 
«  No,  but  this  may  be  a  clue  to  lead  to  the  right  per- 
son    When  I  left  the  Signorina's  chamber,  1  went  to 
the  outer  door  to  see  if  I  could  discover  anything,  and 
on  the  landing  I  found  this,"  saidSignora  Pia,  draw- 
ing a  handkerchief  from  her  pocket  and  putting  it  ni 

Hugo's  hand.  . 

The  hunchback  turned  it  over  and  examined  it. 
It  was  a  gentleman's  handkerchief  of  fine  lawn,  with 
a  coronet  and  coat-of -arms  embroidered  in  the  comer. 
«  Here  is  a  mysteiy,"  he  said,  «  and  I  must  unravel  it. 
Send  the  Signorina  to  ms." 


ftTliiiiiriitiiiriiiiiiiari  fill  li 


A  MT8TEET. 


241 


but  just  awakened,  al- 
least  like  ouo  aroused 

lu  to  say  1 "  said  Hugo, 
e  of  anger  burning  in 
d  gliastly  in  its  pallor, 
you  to  discover  who  was 

0  questions,  I  could  not 
you,  Signoi-c,  and  I  am 

1  you  of  this." 

ing  my  absence,  sbe  rc- 

I  there  with  her  and  yon 
w  not  who  it  was,  but  I 
talking  with  her." 

ho  it  was  ? " 

3  toleadtotherigbtper- 
ina's  chamber,  1  went  to 
i  discover  anything,  and 
saidSignora  Pia,  draw- 
pocket  and  putting  it  in 

t  over  and  examined  it. 
irchief  of  fine  lawn,  with 
ibroidered  in  the  corner. 
,  «  and  I  must  unravel  it. 


A  moment  after  Lisa  entered  the  studio  a  little 
hesitatingly,  and  going  to  her  father  she  kissed  him  as 
usual.    Tlie  hunchback  returned  her  embrace  and  then 

said  kindly : 

"  My  child,  was  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  here  dur- 
ing my  absence  ? " 

"No,  papa." 

"  Was  any  one  here  ? " 

« I  do  not  know.  Signora  Pia  will  tell  you  if  sbe 
opened  the  door  for  any  one." 

"  Then  you  saw  no  one  during  my  absence  ? " 

"  Who  could  I  see,  papa? " 

"  Answer  my  direct  question  with  a  direct  answer." 

She  turned  frightfully  pale,  but  her  voice  never 
wavered  as  she  replied  :  "  Papa,  once  before  you  quesr 
tioned  and  suspected  me,  and  I  told  you  that  you  must 
trust  me.  I  tell  you  the  same  now.  I  cannot  answer 
you ;  there  is  something  in  my  heart  that  will  not  allow 
me  to." 

«  Lisa,  my  child,  think  what  you  are  saying,"  cried 
Hugo,  in  a  broken  voice.  "  Do  not  refuse  me  your 
confidence." 

"  Confidence  must  be  given  voluntarily,  not  forced, 
papa.  I  beg  that  you  will  not  make  me  unhappy  again." 

"  Then  you  have  nothing  to  tell  me." 
"  Nothing,  papa." 

"  Leave  me,  then.    I  wish  to  be  alone."  With  a  heart- 
11 


242 


A  MTSTERT. 


it  K 


broken, Buppressed  sob,  and  a  look  of  deep  affection,  Lisa 
turned  away  from  her  father,  and  went  back  to  the 
silence  of  her  own  room.  From  that  moment  there  was 
a  gulf  between  them,  that  no  after-lovo  or  trust  could 

bridge  over.  '      .     ,    , 

When  he  was  alone  again,  Hugo  went  to  his  desk 
and  took  out  a  card.  It  was  the  card  of  the  Duchess  of 
Castellara,  on  which  she  had  made  a  memoranda  of  the 
hour  for  a  sitting,  and  in  the  corner  was  the  ducal 
coronet  and  coat-of-arms.  Spreading  the  handkerchief 
on  the  table,  he  compared  the  card  and  embroidered 
monogram  and  found  them  to  be  precisely  the  same, 
and  slowly  and  surely  the  tangled  skein  unravelled 
before  his  mind's  eye. 

« I  see  it  all  plainly-blind,  weak,  deluded  fool  that  I 
have  been.    The  girl  has  a  lover,  and  it  is  the  Duke  of 
Castellara.     The  Duchess  has  discovered-  it,  and  that 
accounts  for  her  strange  conduct.    The  letter  that  I 
picked  up  on  the  floor  was  written  to  Lisa  by  the 
Duke;  she  recognized  his  handwriting,  and  that  was 
the  cause  of  her  pallor,  her  rage,  but  she  was  too  proud 
to  betray  her  husband  to  me.    He  was  the  white-haired 
man  who  knelt.by  her  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Sacrament. 
It  was  he  who  passed  me  to-day  at  my  ver,   door,  and 
recognizing  me,  dared  not  enter  his  carriage  in  my 
sight.    Oh  I  had  I  known  it,  had  1  dreamed  that  he  was 
.     my  enemy,  I  would  have  felled  him  to  the  earth  and 


r. 


COUNT  VALDIMEITS  DISAPPOINTMENT.      243 


c  of  deep  affection,  Lisa 
md  went  back  to  tho 
that  moment  there  was 
ter-lovo  or  trust  could 

[ngo  went  to  his  desk 
card  of  the  Duchess  of 
ide  a  memoranda  of  the 

corner  was  the  ducal 
3ading  the  handkerchief 

card  a"d  embroidered 
be  precisely  the  same, 
ngled  skein  unravelled 

ireak,  deluded  fool  that  I 
er,  and  it  is  the  Duke  of 
discovered'  it,  and  that 
iuct.    The  letter  that  I 
written  to  Lisa  by  the 
ndwriting,  and  that  was 
re,  but  she  was  too  proud 
He  was  the  white-haired 
Chapel  of  the  Sacrament, 
ly  at  my  ver    door,  and 
nter  his  carriage  in  my 
id  1  dreamed  that  he  was 
id  him  to  the  earth  and 


trampled  him  in  the  dust ;  my  arm  would  have  been 
like  a  bar  of  steel  to  have  struck  in  her  defence.  But  I 
let  him  pass  me,  I  let  him  escape.  Another  time  he  will 
not  be  so  fortunate.  He  shall  taste  the  revenge  of  the 
desi)iHed  hunchback.  Oh  1  my  Lisa  ;  my  child  I  and  I 
trusted  you  and  loved  you  so,  and  thought  you  so  pure 
and  innocent,  and  you  must  be  deeper  and  more  de- 
ceitful than  any  other  living  being  to  hide  this  from 
me  with  such  ci  ro.  But  I  forgive  you,  and  I  will  save 
you  in  spite  of  youi-self.  You  shall  live  to  know  the 
strength  of  ray  love  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CX)UNT  VALDIMEe's   DISAPPOINTMENT. 

OR  several  days  Count  Valdimer  waited  in 
vain  for  a  signal  from  Lisa.  Something 
must  have  happened.  The  hunchback  had 
either  discovered  their  clandestine  meetings,  or  the  girl 
was  ill,  for  the  curtain  remained  closed,  and  there  was 
no  sign  of  life  from  the  little  window  over  the  loggia. 
Impatient  and  restless,  Nordiskoff  went  to  the  studio, 
hoping  by  chance  to  meet  Lisa,  or  to  hear  something  from 
her,  bnt  his  visits  were  unsuccessful ;  he  found  Hugo 


f' 


•  (, 


244      OOUNT  VALDJMEm  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

alone,  and  apparently  abBorbed,  heart  and  bouI,  in  his 
work,  though  hiB  face  looked  worn  and  sad,  and  hm 
.uannev  ^vaB  that  of  one  engaged  in  a  terrible  conflict 
with  hiMiBelf.  Every  glance,  every  movement  Bhowcd 
that  he  waB  trying  to  BuppreBB  Bome  paBBion,  so.ue 
internal  fire  of  anguiah  that  was  conBuming  hun  while 
it  smouldered. 

NordiBkoff  felt  a  Bort  of  pity  for  the  wretched  man, 
and  began  to  think  that  perhaps  he  was  in  some  way 
to  blame  for  it.    If  he  had  discovered  his  daughter  b 
deception,  of  coui-se  it  would  render  him  most  un- 
happy ;  but  if  he  had,  would  the  hunchback  meet  him 
in  his  usual  calm  and  indifferent  way,  without  anger 
or  remark?    It  was  not  reasonable  to  suppose  bo,  for 
such  an  impulsive,  uncontrollable  nature  would  surely 
burst  forth  in  passionate  reproaches  and  Bharp  recrimi- 
nation.   There  was  a  mystery  that  the  Count  could  not 
understand,  and  Lisa's  persistent  silence  only  aggra- 
vated his  love  and  desire  to  see  her.    He  dare  not  ask 
after  her,  he  dare  not  attempt  any  of  the  usual  means 
of  bribery  with  Signora  Pia,  for  he  at  once  understood 
that  the  faithful  woman  was  not  to  be  bought,  and  he 
dare  not  attempt  to  communicate  with  the  girl  by 

At  last,  urged  on  to  desperation  by  a  passion  that  he 
could  not  control,  he  had  resource  to  Berto,  the  copy- 
ist, confessing  to  him  his  love  for  the  beautiful  Lisa, 


**, 


tvm^masmnatattmmm 


PPOINTMKNT. 

cart  aJid  bouI,  in  his 
rn  and  sad,  and  his 
in  a  terrible  conflict 
ry  movement  showed 
some  passion,  some 
consuming  him  while 

or  the  wretched  man, 
I  he  was  in  some  way 
50vered  his  daughter's 
render  him  most  un- 
,  hunchback  meet  him 
[it  way,  without  anger 
ble  to  suppose  so,  for 
le  nature  would  surely 
ihes  and  sharp  recrimi- 
,at  the  Count  could  not 
iut  silence  only  aggra- 
her.    He  dare  not  ask 
,ny  of  the  usual  means 
r  he  at  once  understood 
•t  to  be  bought,  and  he 
icate  with  the  girl  by 

;ion  by  a  passion  that  he 
irce  to  Berto,  the  copy- 
for  the  beautiful  Lisa, 


COUNT  VALDIMERa  DISAPPOINTMENT.      245 

his  present  embarrassment,  his  impatience  and  desire 
to  see  her  by  some  means,  and  promising  the  poor 
artist  a  handsome  reward  if  he  would  bring  about  a 
meeting  in  any  way  that  he  could  arrange. 

Berto  was  not  a  bad  man  ;  ho  was  only  weak,  and 
very  poor,  and  therefore  easily  induced  to  undertake 
the  dishonorable  task.  But  for  awhile  he  seemed  no 
more  successful  than  the  Count  had  been.  He  had 
inade  various  excuses  to  call  at  Hugo's  studio,  and  had 
lingered  around  the  house  in  the  Via  San  Gallo  as 
k)ng  as  he  could  without  attracting  attention,  and  all 
he  had  succeeded  in  learning  was,  that  the  hunchback 
rarely  left  his  house,  and  that  the  girl  was  kept  almost 
a  prisoner  in  her  own  room,  never  being  allowed  to 
remain  a  moment  alone,  and  never  going  out  except  to 
Mass  or  Vespei-s,  and  then  always  in  company  with 
her  father  or  Signora  Pia,  who  was  as  vigilant  and 
alert  as  Hugo  himself. 

Berto  had  tried,  by  following  and  watching  closely, 
to  find  some  opportunity  of  slipping  a  note  into  Lisa's 
hand,  but  all  in  vain  ;  for  the  hunchback  was  not  to 
be  taken  in  any  clumsy  net,  and  the  old  woman's  eyes 
were  everywhere  at  once.  Count  Valdimer  was 
wretched  when  he  was  informed  that  the  poor  girl 
looked  pale  and  ill,  and  was  evidently  suffering  deeply 
from  her  close  imprisonment  and  her  desire  to  see  him. 
"Poor  child,"  he  thought;  "poor,  gentle,  lovely 


240      COUNT  VALDIMEKS  DISArrOINTMENT. 


1 

I 

.11 

,M 


m ' 


11 


child  1  Tliift  hidooiiB  wrctdi  will  kill  licr  by  liis  Bovero 
trcutiiiont ;  mid  if  1  love  her  why  8h<)\.ld  I  leave  hor  in 
his  power?  There  can  certainly  bo  nothing  wrong  in 
providing  her  with  some  meane  of  escaping  from  his 

tyranny." 

Pondering  over  this  a  groat  deal,  ho  at  last  resolved, 
with  the  aid  of  Berto,  to  take  the  girl  away  from  her 
father  by  force  if  he  conld  not  compass  it  by  any  other 
means ;  for  he  never  doubted  but  what  Lisa  would 
welcome  any  deliverance  from  her  hateful  bondage. 

«  It  will  bo  very  easy  to  arrange,"  said  Berto,  in  one 
of  his  consultations  with  Nordiskoff,  for,  as  the  young 
Count  grew  more  and  more  inipationt,  the  poor  artist 
grew  more  greedy  for  the  gold  that  was  to  be  his 
reward,  and  was  now  ready  to  push  mattei-s  to  any 
extreme,  if  ho  might  but  win  a  price  equal  to  his 

service. 

"  Not  as  easy  as  you  think,"  returned  Count  Valdi- 
mer,  impatiently,  for  he  was  weary  with  this  constant 
disappointment  of  his  hopes.  «  One  cannot  storm  the 
castle  and  bear  the  lady  off  as  he  could  in  feudal  times. 
If  so,  she  would  not  long  be  in  the  power  of  that  old 
monster,  her  father." 

"  But  what  strength  of  arms  cannot  accomplish,  wit 
and  cunning  can.  You  leave  it  to  me,  and  1  will  find 
means  to  bring  her  to  you." 

"Without  injuring  or  alarming  the  poor  child,  re- 


XrrOINTMENT. 

kill  lior  by  liis  sovero 

slxM.ld  I  Icftvo  hor  in 

f  bo  nothing  wrong  in 

of  escaping  from  his 

al,  ho  at  last  resolved, 
10  girl  away  from  hor 
)mpa88  it  by  any  other 
but  what  Lisa  would 
or  hateful  bondage. 
*o,"  said  Borto,  in  one 
koff,  for,  as  the  young 
latient,  the  poor  artist 
d  that  was  to  be  his 
)  push  mattei-s  to  any 
a  price  equal  to  his 

returned  Count  Valdi- 
lary  with  this  constant 
One  cannot  storm  the 
5  could  in  feudal  times, 
the  power  of  that  old 

cannot  accomplish,  wit 
t  to  me,  and  1  will  find 

ing  the  poor  child,  re- 


COUNT  VALDIMEira  DISAPPOINTMENT.      247 

member;   for  1  will  not  have  a  hair  of  hor  head 

harmed." 

"  Certainly,  Signoro.    I  am  not. a  cruel  man,  and  1 
would  not  undertake  anything  that  would  make  another 
hunmii   l)oiiig  suffer;  but  I  know  the  girl  will  bo  as 
nnidy  tu  ccuno  as  I  shall  be  to  bring  hor,  and  my  plan 
is  this :  I  have  discovered  iXxoXowfentas  she  goes  to  San 
Lorenzo  t»)  Vespers,  and  sometimos  she  is  alone  with 
her  woman,  whom   Hugo  trusts  as  ho  does  himself. 
Thoy  always  pass  the  Via  Ginori,  which  is  a  narrow, 
lonoly  street,  and  at  Ave  Maria  quite  deserted.     Now 
I  shall  station  a  carriage  there  with  a  trusty  driver, 
and   as  they  enter  the  street  I  shall  arrange  with  a 
friend  to  take  Signora  Tia  by  the  arm,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, cover  hor  mouth  with  his  hand,  while  I  load  the 
young  lady  to  the  carriage,  whisiiering  to  her,  of 
coui-sc,  that  you  are  waiting  for  her,  which  will  pro- 
vent  any  alarm  on  her  part,  and  then  when  I  have  her 
safely  inside,  the  driver  can  cut  np  his  horses  and 
gallop  o^,  while  my  friend  allows  Signora  Pia  to  go 
about  h'jr  business." 

«  Very  simple  and  feasible,  as  you  present  it,  but 
perhaps  not  quite  as  easy  of  execution  as  you  think; 
however,  I  make  no  objection,  so  that  you  bring  the  girl 
to  a  place  that  I  will  designate  to  you ;  only  remember, 
there  is  to  be  no  violence,  no  force;  if  she  objects,  or 
resists,  you  are  at  once  to  abandon  your  plan." 


y 

■  ^^ 


248      COUNT  VALUrUKIi'S  DISAPPOTNTMENT. 

"Slio  will  not,  Sigiiorc.  Wlmt  woiriftii  in  lu-r  Houses 
would  prol'cr  imprisotiinont  with  sturli  a  jailor  as  her 
father,  to  freedom  with  the  luau  she  loves  I  Oh,  leave 
it  all  to  uie,  and  1  will  bring  her  to  you  before  another 
week  is  over." 

Signora  Pia  and  Lisa  were  kneeling  together  in  a 
quiet,  unfrequented  ehapel  in  San  Lorenzo.     The  girl 
waa  very  pale  and  sad,  and  as  she  prayed  earnestly  the 
tears  welled  up  into  her  lovely  eyes  and  rolled  down 
her  cheeks  like  drops  of  crystal  dew  on  the  leaf  of  a 
rose,  her  sweet  month  trembled,  and  the  words  sho  nt- 
tered  seemed   more  a  supprcwsed  sob  than  a  prayer. 
Life  had  seemed  hard  to  the  poor  child,  since  she  had 
incurred  her  father's  just  anger  and  lost  her  lover's 
society  at  the  same  time.     For  several  weeks  she  had 
neither  seen  nor  heard  fr«m  Valdimer,  and  her  young 
heart  was.  sick  with   di8ay)poiiitment.     She  no  longer 
dared  to  summon  him  to  the  studio,  for  her  father  was 
scarcely  ever  absent,  and   if   ho  was,   Signora    Pia 
watched  in  his  stead,  and  she  was  as  severe  and  as  in- 
vulnerable as  a  rock.     There  was  no  way  that  she  could 
see  him,  and  as  the  days  went  on,  hope  left  her  and  de- 
spair tilled  its  vacant  place.     Instead  of  being  merry 
and  light-hearted,  as  she  onco  was,  she  wept  most  of 
the  time  alone  in  her  room,  or  prayed  to  God  to  restore 
her  lover  to  her. 

She  never  asked  to  go  out,  never  expressed  any  wish 


iPPOTNTMENT. 


COUNT  VALDIMERS  DTSAPPOTNTMENT.      249 


t  woman  in  her  hciihis 
I  such  a  jailor  as  her 
she  I0VO8  1  Oh,  Icavo 
to  you  boforo  another 

{neoling  together  in  a 
111  Loroiisto.     Tlie  girl 
e  prayed  earnestly  the 
eyes  and  rolled  down 
[  dow  on  the  leaf  of  a 
and  the  words  sho  nt- 
3d  80I)  than  a  prayer. 
»or  child,  since  she  had 
T  and  lost  her  lover's 
several  weeks  she  had 
idimer,  and  her  young 
incnt.     She  no  longer 
dio,  for  her  father  was 
he  was,   Signora    Pia 
vas  as  severe  and  as  in- 
»  no  way  that  she  could 
a,  hope  left  her  and  de- 
nstead  of  being  merry 
was,  she  wept  most  of 
rayed  to  God  to  restore 


er  expressed  any  wish 


on  any8ul)joct;  showed  no  interest  in  anything  beyond 
tiio  walls  of  their  homo ;  avoided  her  father,  if  she  conld, 
uiid  if  she  was  obliged  to  be  in  his  presonce,  remained 
Hilent  and  absorljcd,  neither  giving  nor  seeking  conti- 
(lonco.  And  the  p(M)r  liun(;hi)a(!k  watched  her  troubled 
face  with  mute  sorrow,  feeling  that  the  time  had  como 
when  ho  had  no  power  to  comfort  her,  no  moans  of 
making  her  happy,  and  no  chance  of  winning  her  lovo 
and  trust,  since  ho  must  act  the  part  of  a  cruel,  pitiless 
jailor.  "  '     V  ^r 

Signora  Pia  often  took  her' to  church  from  n  i)iou8 
sense  of  duty,  feeling  that  religion  might  soften  the 
gii  I's  heart  and  bring  her  back  to  a  sense  of  her  duty  ; 
but  she  watched  her  so  closely,  and  treated  her  with 
such  rigorous  severity,  that  it  was  rnore  a  pain  than  a 
pleasure  to  leave  the  shelter  of  her  own  room. 

While  the  unhappy  girl  knelt  and  prayed  in  the 
Chapel- of  San  Lorenzo,  unconscious  that  any  eye  but 
God's  was  upon  her,  three  men  were  watching  her  from 
different  points  of  view.  Two  were  Berto  and  his 
companion,  waiting,  like  birds  of  prey,  to  pounce  xipon 
a  timid,  trembling  dove ;  the  third  was  a  dark,  hand- 
some man,  about  thirty-six  years  of  age,  with  gentle 
eyes,  noble  features,  and  a  grave,  sweet  smile,  that 
seemed  the  expression  of  a  happy,  generous  nature, 
lie  had  been  praying  devoutly  at  one  of  the  altai-s,  and 
had  risen  from  his  knees,  and  was  about  to  leave  the 


,4 

(1 


II' 


;#' 


250      COUNT  VALDIMEICS  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

chnrch  when  the  lovely,  sorrowf  al  face  of  Lisa  attracted 
his  attention;  stepping  behind  a  pillar,  that  he  might 
watch  her  without  being  observed,  he  continued  to  gaze 
on  her  with  respectful  admiration;  her  youth,  beauty, 
and  sorrow;  her  maidenly,  modest  bearing ;  her  slender 
white  hands  clasped  so  devoutly  ;  the  graceful  turn  ot 
her  head;  her  simple,  neat  garments,  all  pleased  his 
refined  and  pure  taste. 

«  She  is  no  common  girl,"  he  thought,  «  and  yet  she 
cannot  be  a  noble,  or  she  would  not  be  here  at  this 
hour  with  only  a  woman  servant.     They  are  evidently 
of  the  better  middle  class;  the  woman  is  most  respect- 
able  the  girl  is  adorable  and  of  different  appearance 
and' manner;  they  cannot  be  mother  and  daughter, 
there  is  nothing  in  common  about  them ;  and  yet  the 
elder  seems  not  to  be  a  servant.    1  am  interested,  and 
I  will  watch  them,  though  it  is  an  extraordinary  thing 
for  me  to  do.    Fancy  a  man  of  my  age  and  serious 
habits  staring  at  a  pretty  girl  from  behind  a  pillar  like 

a  love-lorn  rustic." 

At  length  Signora  Pia  and  Lisa  finished  their  devo- 
tions, and  rose  to  leave  the  church,  the  girl  with  down- 
cast eyes  and  sad,  abstracted  air,  the  woman  glancing 
constantly  right  and  left,  to  see  if  the  foe  were  in  the 
field,  or  the  way  clear  for  them  to  pass  out.  The  scru- 
tiny seemed  to  satisfy  her,  for  no  one  was  in  sight  but 
the  scattered  worshippers  intent  on  their  prayers,  so, 


PPOINTMENT. 

face  of  Lisa  attracted 

pillar,  that  he  might 
he  continued  to  gaze 
;  her  youth,  beauty, 

bearing ;  her  slender 
the  graceful  turn  of 

lents,  all  pleased  his 

liought,  "  and  yet  she 
I  not  be  here  at  this 
They  are  evidently 
oman  is  most  respect- 
different  appearance 
nother  and  daughter, 
lit  them ;  and  yet  the 
1  am  interested,  and 
an  extraordinary  thing 
f  my  age  and  serious 
)m  behind  a  pillar  like 

,i8a  finished  their  devo- 
ch,  the  girl  with  down- 
r,  the  woman  glancing 
3  if  the  foe  were  in  the 
to  pass  out.  The  scru- 
lo  one  was  in  sight  bnt 
lit  on  their  prayers,  so, 


COUNT  VALDIMER8  DISAPPOINTMENT.      251 

drawing  the  girl's  arm  within  hers,  she  walked  toward 
the  door  with  a  firm,  resolute  step. 

Scarcely  had  they  entered  the  vestibule,  when  Berto 
and  his  companion  stepped  from  their  concealment 
behind  a  confessional  and  followed  the  women  at  a 
respectful  distance,  sper'dng  in  confidential  tones  from 
time  to  time.  The  gentleman  behind  the  pillar  noticed 
this,  and  being  already  ititerested  in  the  lovely  girl,  he 
was  determined  to  see  what  was  the  intention  of  the 

two  men. 

As  Signora  Pia  and  Lisa  entered  the  Via  Ginorl, 
walking  quickly,  for  it  was  nearly  dark,  Berto  and  his 
companion  were  close  behind  them,  although  they 
knew  it  not ;  and  at  a  little  distance,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  graceful  girl,  followed  the  tall,  lithe  form 
of  the  man  who  had  watched  them  from  behind  the 
pillar  in  the  church. 

A  carriage  was  drawn  close  up  to  a  wall,  and  a 
driver  seemed  to-be  nodding  on  the  seat,  while  the 
horses  stamped  the  pavement  restlessly,  as  though  they 
were  tired  of  waiting.  When  the  party  of  four  came 
opposite  the  vehicle,  one  of  the  men  suddenly  sprang 
forward,  and  seizing  the  elder  woman,  he  placed  his 
hand  over  her  mouth  and  held  her  firmly,  while  the 
other  put  his  arm  around  the  young  girl  and  turned 
her  toward  the  carriage.  It  was  but  the  work  of  an 
instant,  and  had  seemed  simple  enough,  when  Berto 


J, 


iU 


'Mii, 


252      COUNT  VALDIMERS  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

had  recounted  his  plan  to  ValdiVner,  but  he  had  not 
expected  any  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  girl.  How- 
ever, no  sooner  had  Lisa  seen  the  attack  on  Signora 
Pia,  and  felt  the  man's  arm  about  her,  than  she  strug- 
gled violently,  and  uttered  a  piennng  shriek. 

It  was  in  vain  for  Berto,  then,  to  inform  her  that 
Count  Yaldimer  was  waiting  for  her,  that  no  harm 
was  intended,  and  a  dozen  other  stupid  assurances,  for 
she  was  beside  herself  with  fright,  and  did  not  distin- 
guish a  word  that  he  said  to  her,  but  continued  to  call 
piteously  for  help  ;  and  he,  anxious  to  silence  her,  and, 
in  his  excitement,  quite  forgetting  the  Count's  injunc- 
tion that  no  violence  should  be  used,  still  insisted  upon 
forcing  the  terrified  girl  toward  the  carriage,  in  spite 
of  her  struggles  and  screams. 

At  that  moment,  and  just  as  Berto  was  about  to  suc- 
ceed in  forcing  Lisa  into  the  carriage,  a  vigorous  blow 
from  a  strong  hand  sent  him  reeling  backward,  and,  to 
his  astonishment,  a  third  pai-ty  appeared  on  the  scene, 
whose  opposition  he  had  not  counted  upon.  Seeing  that 
his  cause  was  lost,  and  that  a  f uiiiher  struggle  was  use- 
less, he  called  to  his  companion,  who  released  the 
trembling  Signora  Pia,  and  with  him  sprang  into  the 
carriage,  and  was  driven  away  before  the  rescuer  had 
an  opportunity  of  recognizing  or  detaining  them. 

When  Lisa  knew  that  she  was  safe,  her  first  thought 
was  of  Yaldimer,  for,  according  to  all  laws  of  romance, 


APPOINTMENT. 

IdiVner,  but  he  had  not 
lart  of  the  girl.  IIow- 
the  attack  on  Signora 
it  her,  than  she  strug- 
r(!ing  shriek, 
n,  to  inform  her  that 
or  her,  that  no  harm 
stupid  assurances,  for 
lit,  and  did  not  distin- 
,  but  continued  to  call 
)us  to  silence  her,  and, 
ng  the  Count's  injunc- 
ised,  still  insisted  upou 
the  carriage,  in  spite 

Jerto  was  about  to  suc- 
■riage,  a  vigorous  blow 
ling  backward,  and,  to 
ppeared  on  the  scene, 
ited  upon.  Seeing  that 
•ther  struggle  was  use- 
on,  who  released  the 
li  him  sprang  into  the 
efore  the  rescuer  had 

detaining  them. 

safe,  her  first  thought 
to  all  laws  of  romance, 


COUNT  VALDIMER8  DISAPPOINTMENT.      253 

it  should  have  been  her  lover  that  rescued  her  from 
peril;  but,  instead  of  the  fair-haired  Russian,  she  saw 
before  her  an  entire  stranger,  with  a  tall,  straight 
figure,  and  a  dark  face,  that  in  the  gathering  twilight 
looked  kindly  and  protectingly  on  her. 

His  arm  was  around  her,  and  she  was  leaning  against 
him,  trembling  like  a  reed  smitten  by  a  strong  wind  ; 
and  as  he  held  her,  he  could  feel  her  heart  beating, 
and  every  fibre  of  her  being  throbbing  with  fear.  She 
could  not  speak  for  some  moments,  but  clung  to  him, 
Bobbing  and  shaking,  while  he  soothed  her  gently, 
smoothing  her  golden  hair  with  a  tender  and  reverent 

touch. 

"  Poor  child,  do  not  fear,"  he  said  in  a  clear,  pleas- 
ant voice.  "  You  are  safe  now,  for  the  villains  have 
fled,  and  I  will  protect  you  until  you  reach  your  home." 

At  that  moment  Signora  Pia,  who  had  recovered  a 
little  from  her  terror  and  surprise  on  seeing  her  young 
mistress  supported  by  a  stranger,  and  a  man,  came  for- 
ward  as  quickly  as  her  trembling  limbs  would  allow 
her  to,  and  putting  her  arm  around  the  girl,  she  said : 

"  Thank  you,  Signore.  Though  I  scarce  know  what 
has  happened,  yet  I  perceive  that  you  have  saved  us 
from  danger.  May  God  reward  you  for  your  goodness 
to  two  defenceless  women." 

«  Oh,  Signora  Pia,  what  did  it  all  mean  ? "  cried  the 
poor  girl,  shivering  and  looking  around. 


W>\ 


-.'  '.f 


Hi 


li'' 


254    cof^^■^  yaldimers  disappointment. 

«  Be  calm,  Sigtioiina  ;  it  is  over  now,  and  this  gen- 
tleman will  not  leave  us  until  we  are  safely  home." 

Lisa  looked  appealiugly  at  her  rescuer,  who  smiled 
confidently  and  replied  :  "  Have  no  more  fear.  You  are 
safe.  But  tell  me  where  you  live,  for  if  it  is  far  you 
are  much  too  weak  and  shaken  to  walk." 

« It  is  not  far,"  returned  the  girl;  "we  live  in  the 
Via  San  Gallo." 

"  Her  father  is  Signor  Hugo,  the  artist,"  said  Sig- 
nora  Pia  with  some  pride. 

"  My  poor  father,  how  thankful  I  am  that  he  was 
spared  this  scene  !   The  shock  would  have  killed  him." 

"  Will  you  take  my  arm,  Signorina  ? "  said  the  gentle- 
mp.i,  "  and  we  will  turn  toward  your  home.  We  shall 
not  be  likely  to  meet  a  carriage  in  this  street,  and  I 
dare  not  leave  you  to  seek  one." 

"  Oh  I  no,  Signore,  pray  do  not  leave  us.  I  can  walk 
very  well  now  ;  see,  I  scarcely  tremble  at  all." 

"  I  think  I  can  support  the  Signorina  without  your 
assistance,  if  you  will  kindly  leave  her  to  me,"  said 
Signora  Pia,  a  little  doubtful  whether  she  should  allow 
her  young  mistress  to  take  the  arm  of  a  stranger. 

"  My  good  woman,  do  not  be  uneasy,"  replied  the 
gentleman,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  I  will  take  care 
of  your  mistress^or  you  have  all  you  can  do  to  walk 
steadily  yourself.  The  fright  has  not  left  you  with 
any  too  much  strength." 


3APP0INTMENT. 

ver  now,  and  tliis  gen- 
e  are  safely  homo." 
3r  rescuer,  who  smiled 
no  more  fear.  You  are 
ve,  for  if  it  is  far  you 
to  walk." 
girl ;  *'  we  live  in  the 

o,  the  artist,"  said  Sig- 

ful  I  am  that  he  was 
irould  have  killed  him." 
3rina  ? "  said  the  gentle- 
your  home.  We  shall 
;e  in  this  street,  and  I 

ot  leave  us.  I  can  walk 
tremble  at  all." 
Jignorina  without  your 
leave  her  to  me,"  said 
hether  she  should  allow 
irm  of  a  stranger, 
e  uneasy,"  replied  the 
lie.  "  I  will  take  care 
ill  you  can  do  to  walk 
has  not  left  you  with 


^^^^SC^'^^^^'i**^-'^^"'  '■ ' 


COVNT  TALDIMER8  DISAPPOINTMENT.      255 

When  they  reached  the  door  of  Hugo's  house  the 
Btranger  was  about  to  leave  them,  but  Lisa  insisted  that 
he  should  enter  to  receive  her  father's  thanks  and  to 
give  a  correct  version  of  the  adventure,  which  their 
terror  at  the  time  would  not  permit  them  to  do. 

Tlie  hunchback  was  sitting  alone  in  his  studio  when 
they  entered.  Siguora  Pia  had  opened  the  door  with 
her  key,  and  he  had  not  heard  them  until  they  stood  be- 
fore him.  Looking  up  with  a  startled  expression  in  his 
eyes,  which  suddenly  turned  to  anger  and  surprise 
ut  seeing  a  stranger  with  them,  he  said  harshly : 

« It  is  time  you  returned  ;  your  prayers  take  too  much 
time,  and  I  will  not  suffer  this  again." 

«  Oh,  papa,  do  not  be  angry.  Oh,  papa,  listen  to  us," 
cried  Lisa,  throwing  herself  into  her  father's  arms  and 
bursting  into  tears.  "This  gentleman  will  tell  you 
what  has  happened.    And  thank  him,  papa,  for  he  has 

been  so  good  to  us." 

Hugo  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  bewildered,  while 
he  tried  to  soothe  his  daughter. 

«  What  does  this  all  mean,  Signore?  Will  you  be 
good  enough  to  explain  1 " 

«  Certainly,"  said  the  stranger,  gravely.  "  It  can  be 
told  in  a  few  words,  but  it  is  a  very  serious  matter,  i 
was  walking  through  the  Via  Ginori,  when  I  came 
upon  two  men  who  were  about  to  abduct  your 
daughter.    C>ne  of  them  had  nearly  succeeded  in  fore- 


256      COUNT  VALDIMEB'B  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


*!i 


W. 


hm 


ing  her  into  a  carriage,  when  her  loud  «;creain9  reached 
my  ears.  I  catno  upon  the  scene,  and  of  course  the 
villains  fled  ;  that  is  all,  but  I  beg  that  in  the  future 
you  will  not  allow  so  young  and  lovely  a  girl  to  go  to 
Vespei-s  at  this  hour  without  a  proper  escort." 

During  the  brief  and  modest  recital  of  the  stranger, 
Hugo  sat  with  his  arm  around  his  daughter  motionless, 
like  one  stunned  and  deprived  of  all  power.  Then  he 
put  her  away,  and  standing  up,  with  an  effort,  he  lifted 
his  right  hand  to  Heaven,  and  said  impressively :  "  I 
needed  but  this  to  nerve  my  arm  for  revenge.  Now 
the  time  has  come,  and  the  demon  who  has  destroyed 
my  peace  of  mind,  brought  contention  and  unhappi- 
ness  into  my  home,  shall  reap  the  reward  of  his  own 
deeds;  and  my  child,  my  innocent,  unhappy  child, 
shall  be  saved  from  further  danger." 

"  Oh,  papa ! "  cried  Lisa,  with  a  terror-stricken  face. 
"  Do  you  know  who  did  this  ? " 

"Yes,  ray  child,  I  know  who  my  enemy  is,''  re- 
turned Hugo,  with  an  expressive  look  at  the  girl. 

"  Tell  me,  why  did  he  do  it  ?  Why  did  he  wish  to 
take  me  away  ? "  and,  overcome  by  the  very  thought  of 
her  danger,  she  covered  her  face  and  began  weeping 
again. 

"  Poor  child  I  she  is  completely  unnerved,"  said  the 
stranger,  compassionately,  "  and  it  is  your  fii-st  duty  to 
calm  and  reassure  her ;  she  seema  to  be  entirely  igno- 


vmitm^i^wmmt' 


iPPOINTMENT. 


COUNT  VALDIMER'S  DISAPPOINTMENT.      257 


•  loud  «5creain9  reached 
lie,  and  of  course  the 
beg  that  in  the  future 

lovely  a  girl  to  go  to 
roper  escort." 
recital  of  the  stranger, 
is  daughter  motionless, 
f  all  power.  Then  he 
fith  an  effort,  he  lifted 
said  impressively  :  "  I 
ra  for  revenge.  Now 
tion  who  has  destroyed 
itention  and  unhappi- 
lie  reward  of  his  own 
iceut,  unhappy  child, 
;er." 

a  terror-stricken  face. 

10  my  enemy  is,''  re- 
)  look  at  the  girl. 

Why  did  he  wish  to 
by  the  very  thought  of 
56  and  began  weeping 

ly  unnerved,"  said  the 
.  it  is  your  firet  duty  to 
tna  to  be  entirely  igno- 


rant of  any  reason  for  this  attack.  If  you  suspect  or 
know  the  person  guilty  of  this  outrage,  toll  me  his 
iiauie,  and  I  will  see  that  he  is  punished  by  the  laws  of 
his  country,  which  will  be  more  sensible  and  effective 
than  any  personal  vengeance." 

"  Pardon  mo,  Signore,  but  1  am  the  best  judge  of 
that.  I  have  a  long  score  to  settle  with  this  person- 
wrongs  that  no  law  can  redress,  injuries  that  can  only 
be  wiped  out  with  blood.  I  am  deeply  indebted  to 
you  for  your  interest  in  my  cliild.  You  liave  saved 
her  from  a  terrible  fate,  and  henceforth  my  gratitude, 
my  very  life,  all  that  I  am  or  have,  is  laid  at  your  feet ; 
but  you  must  allow  me  to  avenge  my  own  wrongs  in 
my  own  way.  Now,  tell  us  to  whom  we  are  indebted, 
so  that  my  child  may  remember  you  in  her  prayere, 
and  keep  your  memory  green  with  her  tears  of  grati- 
tude." 

"lam  Count  Enrico  Altimonti,"  said  the  gentle- 
man, in  a  husky  voice,  while  his  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
for  the  words  of  the  strange  creature  before  him  had 
moved  him  deeply. 

"Count  Enrico  Altimonti,"  repeated  Hugo  slowly. 
"  I  know  the  name  of  Altimonti ;  it  was  sacred  to  me 
for  many  yeare.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  now,  and  I 
would  have  a  few  words  with  you  in  private  before 
you  go.  Lisa,  my  child,  you  may  retire  with  Signora 
Pia.» 


•^ 


258      COUNT  VALDIMER'S  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Tho  young  girl  bowed  low,  looking  at  Enrico  with 
gentle,  grateful  glances,  and,  muniniring  again  and 
again  her  thanks,  she  loft  the  room,  followed  by  his 
admiring,  earnest  gaze. 

When  thoy  were  alone,  Hugo  closed  the  door  care- 
fully, and,  laying  his  long,  thin  hand  on  the  arm  of 
Enrico,  ho  said :  "  I  like  your  face,  and  I  am  euro  I 
can  trust  you,  and  depend  upon  your  kindness  to 
advise  me  in  my  trouble.  When  I  tell  you  who  ray 
enemy  is,  you  will  see  that  1  have  acted  wisely  in 
making  a  confidant  of  you.  The  man  who  has 
destroyed  my  happiness,  who  has  taught  my  child  to 
deceive  me,  who  has  won  her  love  and  confidence  from 
me,  and  who  has  tried  to  rob  me  of  her,  is  your 
cousin's  husband,  the  Duke  of  Castellara." 

"  It  is  impossible  1 "  cried  Enrico,  with  an  expression 
of  profound  astonishment.  "  Surely  tho  Duke  of  Cas- 
tellara is  incapable  of  such  crimes  ? " 

"  One  would  think  so,  but  nevertheless  he  is  the  vil- 
lain who  would  rob  me  of  my  only  treasure,  who  would 
steal  her  from  me.  Oh,  my  God !  he  would  rob  me 
of  my  child,  the  only  thing  I  have  on  earth  to  love. 
It  must  not  be;  he  must  not  live  to  take  her  from 
me,"  and  Hugo  looked  wildly  around,  beating  the  air 
with  his  hands  as  though  ho  were  warding  off  an  ap- 
proaching danger.  "  I  say  he  must  not  live ;  for  if  he 
escapes  ray  vengeance  he  will  accomplish  my  ruin, 


■  ■* 


\APPOINTMEirT. 

cK)king  at  Enrico  with 
[lunHuring  again  and 
•oom,  followed  by  his 

1  closed  the  door  care- 
hand  on  the  arm  of 
Pace,  and  I  am  sure  I 
pon   your  kindness  to 
en  I  tell  you  who  ray 
have  acted  wisely  in 
Tlie   man   who    has 
Eis  taught  my  child  to 
'e  and  confidence  from 
b  me  of  her,  is  your 
Jastellara." 

ico,  with  an  expression 
urely  the  Duke  of  Cas- 
es?" 

vertheless  he  is  the  vil- 
ily  treasure,  who  would 
odl  he  would  rob  me 
have  on  earth  to  love, 
live  to  take  her  from 
iround,  beating  the  air 
ere  warding  off  an  ap- 
aust  not  live  ;  for  if  he 
accomplish  my  ruinj 


ENniOO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


259 


and  I  shall  bo  left  alone  and  desolate.  No  I  no!  I 
cannot  spare  him,  even  though  it  costs  me  my  bouI'b 
salvation." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ENRICO   FAILS  AS   A  MEDIATOR. 

SBi|NRICO  stood  for  some  time  looking  at  the 
miffi  unhappy  creature  before  him,  silent  from  as- 
'^'^  tonishinent.  Was  it  possible  that  his  cousin's 
husband,  a  man  of  his  age  and  position,  could  be  guilty 
of  such  an  outrage  on  a  young  and  unpix)tected  girl  ? 
"  Are  you  sure,"  he  said  at  length,  "  that  there  is  no 
mistake  ?  It  seems  incredible  that  the  Duke  of  Castel- 
lara,  who  is  no  longer  young,  can  be  guilty  of  such  an 
ignoble  deed.  What  proofs  have  you  that  he  is  the 
man  ? " 

Then  Hugo  told  him  of  the  Duke's  mysterious  visit 
to  his  studio  during  his  absence,  of  his  meeting  him 
and  seeing  him  enter  his  carriage,  of  finding  the  hand- 
kerchief at  his  very  door,  of  the  note  and  the  appoint- 
ment in  San  Marco,  of  the  anger  and  agitation  of  the 
Duchess  when  he,  in  his  renewed  confidence,  had 
given  the  letter  to  her,  believing  it  to  have  been  hers, 
and  of  Lisa's  stubborn  silence  concerning  the  whole 
affair. 


860 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR 


W 


f  X 


yy 


"But,  my  friend,  you  Biirely  cannot  iniiijjino  that  bo 
young  and  lovely  a  girl  aa  your  daughter  can  bo  Intor- 
estod  in  a  man  who  ia  old  enough  to  bo  her  father  ?  It 
is  absurd.  If  ho  were  young  and  ImnaBomo,  there 
would  bo  sonio  reason  to  euspect  her." 

"  It  n.«y  be  his  wealth  and  position  that  have  en- 
snared her,  or  he  may  be  possessed  with  an  evil  puvor 
to  win  the  confidence  and  love  of  women.     He  is  a 
dangerous  man.     Oh  I  I  kno'.v  well  how  vilo  and  blacjk 
his  heart  is,  and  how  basely  he  has  betrayed  others. 
But  I  do  not  say  that  my  child  encourages  his  atten- 
tions or  returns  his   passion ;   no,  on  the  contrary,  I 
think  she  repulses  him,  and  because  of  that  ho  has  re- 
sorted to  this  base  means  of  gaining  possession  of  her." 
"  If  she  does  not  encourage  him,  if  his  attentious  are 
obnoxious  to  her,  why  does  she  conceal  the  affair  from 
you  ? "  said  Eurico.     "  Would  it  not  be  more  natural 
for  her  to  confide  in  you  and  seek  your  protection 
against  his  pei-secution  ? " 

"  One  would  say  so,  Signoro ;  and  there  is  the  mys- 
tery which  I  have  been  trying  to  unravel.  I  have  been 
patient,  and  would  not  resort  to  any  extreme  measures 
until  every  other  means  failed ;  but  this  last  outrage 
demands  my  speedy  vengeance,  and,  by  Heaven  1  ho 
shall  bo  punished,  even  though  lie  be  the  Duke  of  Cas- 
tellara." 

Enrico  talked  a  long  while  with  the  hunchback, 


aiK 

Co 

t'OI 

ter, 
wai 
] 
foil 
aiK 
fro 
drc 

sin 
( 

ha' 

fea 

oft 

t 

Bii 

wii 
II 
spi 


MEDIATOR 

vnnot  iiimgiiio  that  bo 
laughter  can  bo  intor- 

to  bo  her  father  1  It 
and  hanUBomo,  there 
hor." 

)OBition  that  have  en- 
ed  with  an  evil  pci  ver 

of  women.  He  is  a 
ell  how  vilo  and  bla(jk 

has  betrayed  others, 
encourages  his  atten- 
no,  on  the  contrary,  I 
U180  of  that  ho  has  re- 
ing  possession  of  her." 
m,  if  his  attentions  aro 
jonceal  the  affair  from 
;  not  be  mora  natural 

seek  your  protection 

and  there  is  the  mys- 

un  ravel.    I  have  been 

any  extreme  measures 

but  this  last  outrage 

and,  by  Heaven  1  ho 

he  be  the  Duke  of  Cas- 

with  the  hunchback, 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


261 


reasoning  witli  him,  endeavoring  to  calm  his  terrible 
anger,  and  disHiuido  him  from  hirt  fatal  piirpoae,  but  in 
vain  :  the  stnviigo,  passionate  nature  of  the  man  was 
fully  aroused  and  only  vengeance  coukl  satisfy  his  fury. 

After  some  kind  advice  regarding  the  young  girl, 
and  promises  of  assistance,  if  his  aid  were  needed. 
Count  Altimonti  took  leave,  with  a  firm  determina- 
t'on  of  discovering,  if  possible,  the  solution  to  the  mys- 
tery, and  of  preventing  a  catastrophe  which  he  feared 
was  imminent. 

IIo  first  sought  his  cousin,  the  Duchess,  whom  he 
found  alone,  much  to  his  satisfaction.  She  looked  pale 
and  sad  ;  and  seemed  absorbed  in  painful  thought, 
from  which  she  aroused  herself  to  welcome  him  with  a 
dreary  smile  and  a  cold  clasp  of  the  hand. 

"You  are  a  stranger,  Enrico;  I  have  not  seen  you 
since  the  night  of  our  conversation  at  the  opera." 

"No,  I  believe  not,"  returned  Enrico  gravely.  "I 
have  kept  away  from  you  purposely,  for  I  sometimes 
fear  1  weary  you  with  my  advice,  which  I  atn  sure  is 
often  unwelcome." 

"You  judge  so,  cousin,  from  my  not  acting  upon  it 
But  the  time  has  not  yet  come  when  I  can  do  as  you 
wish.  I  have  been  thinking  seriously  of  what  you  said, 
I  have  been  trying  to  arrive  at  some  determination  re- 
specting Nordiskoff,  but,  for  my  life,  I  cannot  resolve  to 
give  him  up  while  I  believe  he  entertains  such  an  affec- 


262 


BNRICO  FAILS  Ad  A  MEDIATOH. 


tionforino.  If  I  coukllni  conviiicod  tlmt  ho  no  longer 
loves  ino,  tlmt  ho  loves  another,  then  it  would  bo  an 
easy  matter,  for  my  pride  would  como  to  my  aid,  and 
I  should  despirto  him  where  I  now  lovo  him.  Say, 
Enrico,  cannot  you  convince  mo  that  Valdimer  is  un- 
faithfuU  You  wish  to  do  nie  a  kindness,  you  wish  to 
Bavo  mo  from  trouble  and  dishonor,  you  wish  to  boo 
my  heart  at  peace  and  free  from  those  disastrous  con- 
flicts. Now,  you  who  know  him  so  intimately,  who 
are  so  well  acquainted  with  his  private  life,  tell  me,  do 
you  suspect  him  of  any  secret  intrigue,  any  preference 
for  another  ? " 

"  What  an  absurd  question  to  ask,  Elena !  "Why,  all 
Florence  knows  him  to  be  your  most  dovotod  admirer, 
your  faithful  friend,  nay,  almost  your  slave.  It  is  an 
accepted  fact  that  ho  sees  nothing  or  nobody  beyond 
the  Duchess  of  Castellara,  that  he  is  waiting  and  serv- 
ing as  patiently  as  that  long-suffering  individual  we 
read  of  in  the  Bible  ;  for  is  it  not  nearly  seven  years 
since  ho  put  your  welcome  fettei*9  about  his  neck,  and 
bowed  head  and  heart  at  your  feet?" 

"  Pray,  do  not  jest,  Enrico.  I  am  in  earnest,  and  it 
shows  that  I  still  have  some  desire  to  save  myself  when 
I  wish  to  be  disenthralled  from  my  own  illusions,  for, 
after  all,  my  love  for  Valdimer  may  be  but  an  illusion. 
It  would,  indeed,  be  a  mercy  to  me,  if  you  could  con- 
vince rae  that  he  is  insincere  and  unfaithful." 


i  MEDIATOH 

/iiicoil  timt  ho  no  longer 
or,  then  it  would  bo  an 
Id  coino  to  my  aid,  and 
[  now  lovo  him.  Siiy, 
110  that  Valdimer  is  iin- 
a  kindness,  you  wish  to 
rthonor,  you  wish  to  boo 
n  these  disastroua  con- 
liin  BO  intimately,  who 
private  life,  tell  me,  do 
ntrigne,  any  preference 

0  ask,  Elena !  "Why,  all 
r  most  devoted  admirer, 
9t  yonr  slave.  It  is  an 
hing  or  nobody  beyond 

he  is  waiting  and  serv- 
mffering  individual  we 
;  not  nearly  seven  years 
era  about  his  neck,  and 
'eet«" 

I  am  in  earnest,  and  it 
lire  to  save  myself  when 
ri  my  own  illusions,  for, 

may  be  but  an  illusion. 
)  me,  if  you  could  con- 
id  unfaithful." 


ENlllCO  FAJLti  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


208 


«  But  I  cannot,  cousin,  bocau«e  1  do  not  think  so.  I 
fear  that  he  loves  you  t(M>  woU." 

•♦Why  do  you  say  that  you  fear  Ike  Wo*  mo  too 
well \  Has  it  really  come  to  that  1  Is  hie  \uve  for  mo 
II  misfortune  to  him  J " 

"It  is,  Elena,  for  it  may  bo  tho  means  of  his  dc»tlu 
I  heard  a  few  houi-s  ago,  from  g(Kjd  authority,  thai 
Castellara  intends  to  challouge  him  at  once,  an.i  that  I 
shall  have  to  act  as  second  for  one  or  th«  other,  ««r 
decline  both,  is  also  a  certainty.  You  can  understa.wl 
,ny  dilemma.  Valdimer  is  my  friend,  and  Castel- 
lara is  yonr  husband.  If  I  refuse  one,  I  make  him 
my  enemy.  If  1  refuse  both,  my  position  is  no 
better.    A  catastrophe  is  inevitable  unless  you  avert 

if-"  X.    . 

"II  how  can  I  avert  it,  pray  ? "  cried  the  Duchiess 

excitedly.     «  What  can  I  do  1" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Elena,  and  I  entreat  that  in  this 
case  yon  will  take  my  advice.  Leave  Florence  early 
to-morrow  for  one  of  your  country  places-for  Kome, 
for  Naples,  or  wherever  you  pi-efer,  and  take  your 
husband  with  you." 

»  Oh,  Enrico  I  you  must  be  insane.  I  take  Castel- 
lara with  me  ?  Why,  I  have  not  spoken  to  him  for 
months ;  that  is  a  ridiculous  proposition." 

«  By  doing  it  you  may  save  your  husband's  life." 

« I  do  not  wish  to  save  it,  you  know  I  do  not,"  she 


364 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


died  passionately.  "I  would  not  go  out  of  iny  way 
in  the  least  to  save  him  from  a  dozen  deaths." 

"Then,  if  not  for  Casvollara,  perhaps  you  will  for 
Yaldimer.  You  know  your  husband's  reputation  as  a 
duellist.  Who  ever  escaped  from  his  hands  with  his 
life  ? " 

The  Duchess  turned  deadly  pale,  but  replied  reso- 
lutely :  "  It  is  of  no  uso,  Enrico,  to  strive  to  work 
upon  my  feelings  in  this  way.  The  crisis  must  co:ne, 
sooner  or  later ;  my  running  away  from  it  would  not 
avert  it,  it  would  only  delay  it ;  T  am  resolved  to  see 
an  end  of  this,  for  I  am  weary  of  this  fierce  conflict. 
You  will  think  mc  a  monster  if  I  confess  the  truth  to 
you;  nevertheless,  I  will.  I  prefer  that  this  duel 
should  take  place.  If  Castellara  falls,  I  am  free.  If 
Valdimer  falls,  I  shall  be  spared  the  pain  of  giving 
him  up  to  another ;  I  would  rather  a  thousand  times 
see  him  dead  before  me  than  to  lose  his  love,  than  to 
know  him  false  ;  and  that  may  be  my  fate  if  he  lives." 

"  Oh  1  Elena,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel,  bo  obdurate? 
Have  you  no  pity  on  these  two  men,  who  will  madly 
throw  away  their  lives  for  you  ? " 

"  Enrico,  I  am  now  waat  I  told  you  long  ago  I  should 
become — a  monster  instead  of  a  woman.  Do  not  re- 
proach me,  do  not  blame  me.  Leave  me  to  myself,  to 
my  own  torture,  but  remember  that  I  was  once  pitiful 
and  gentle,  pure  and  good,  until  eveiything  holy  was 


MEDIATOR 

lot  go  out  of  iny  way 
lozen  deaths." 
perhaps  you  will  for 
iband's  reputation  as  a 
)m  his  hands  with  his 

pale,  but  replied  reso- 
co,  to  strive  to  work 

The  crisis  must  come, 
pay  from  it  would  not 

T  am  resolved  to  see 

of  this  fierce  conflict. 

I  confess  the  truth  to 
prefer  that  this  duel 
i-a  falls,  I  ana  free.  If 
ed  the  pain  of  giving 
ther  a  thousand  times 

0  lose  his  love,  than  to 
be  my  fate  if  he  lives." 

so  cruel,  so  obdurate? 

1  men,  who  will  madly 

Id  you  long  ago  I  should 
a  woman.  Do  not  re- 
jeaveme  to  myself,  to 
that  I  was  once  pitiful 
1  eveiything  holy  waa 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


205 


blighted  by  the  deception  and  cruelty  of  others.  I  did 
not  create  this  demon  in  me,  and  I  cannot  control  it ; 
those  who  made  me  what  1  am  must  suffer  the  conse- 
quences of  their  sin." 

Eurico  did  not  reply,  but  sat  in  deep  thought  for  a 
few  moments.  He  was  striving  to  find  some  means  of 
saving  Castellara  from  the  hunchback's  vengeance, 
without  exposing  his  baseness  to  his  wife.  Ketribution 
was  following  fast  upon  the  steps  of  the  hoary-headed 
sinner,  and  although  he  merited  his  punishment,  yet 
Count  Altimonti  desired  to  save  him,  if  possible. 

At  length  he  said,  gravely  and  gently:  "My  dear 
cousin,  I  sometimes  think  you  show  me  the  worst  side 
of  your  nature,  for  I  am  sure  you  have  a  noble  heart, 
ar.d  are  capable  of  some  self-sacrifice  for  others,  if  not 
for  those  who  have  wronged  yon,  for  the  defenceless 
and  innocent  who  have  never  in  any  way  crossed  your 
path.  I  appeal  to  you  in  behalf  of  a  young,  pure  girl 
whom  your  husband  is  pui-suing  and  hunting  down. 
Only  an  hour  ago  1  saved  her  from  the  vile  hands  of  a 
ruffian  who  was  about  to  abduct  her.  She  has  a  father, 
a  man  of  .most  ungovernable  temper,  who  knows  that 
thi-  minion  was  employed  by  Castellara,  on  whom  he 
has  sworn  to  be  revenged.  He  has  sworn  to  follow  the 
Duke  and.  not  to  rest  until  he  sees  him  dead  at  his  feet. 
But  this  may  be  only  the  threat  of  a  half -demented  crea- 
ture, who  is  not  aware  of  the  power  he  has  to  contend 
12 


266  ENRICO  FAILS  A8  A  MEDIATOR. 

against,  and,  in  spite  of  his  fnry,  the  innocent,  lovely 
girl  may  yet  be  stolen  from  him  and  ruined  forever. 
Take  her  under  your  protection  and  she  will  be  safe, 
for  the  Duke  will  not  dare  to  pereecute  her  in  your 

presence." 
«  Who  is  this  unfortunate  creature  whoso  cause  you 

wish  me  to  espouse  ? " 

«  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  poor,  deformed  artist." 

"What!  the  daughter  of  Hugo, the  famous  sculp- 
tor?" 

« I  did  not  know  that  he  was  the  famous  sculptor 
1  have  heard  so  much  of,  but  his  name  is  Hugo." 

«  He  lives  in  the  Via  San  Gallo  1 " 

"Yes,  and  he  seems  very  unfortunate  and  wretched, 
in  spite  of  his  genius.  The  girl  is  lovely,  and  he  wor- 
ships her,  and  he  is  quite  beside  himself  with  fury  and 
indignation.  If  Castellara  remains  In  Florence,  and  he 
can  see  him,  he  will  certainly  do  him  some  harm." 

«  So  you  would  have  me  save  my  husband  from  the 
anger  of  an  infuriated  father  whose  daughter  he  would 
ruin  ? »  cried  the  Ducliess  with  a  hard,  scornful  laugh. 
«  Truly,  Enrico,  you  expect  too  much  of  me ;  but  what 
reason  has  the  hunchback  to  think  that  Castellara  is 
the  guilty  individual  \ " 

«He  has  what  he  considers  the  best  of  reasons,  the 

strongest  of  proofs." 
«  Poor,  deluded  man,  he  is  mistaken,"  said  the  Duch- 


MEDIATOS. 

f,  the  innocent,  lovely 
1  and  ruined  forever, 
and  she  will  be  safe, 
jereecute  her  in  yonr 

iture  whoso  cause  you 

)r,  deformed  artist." 
ugo,  the  famous  sculp- 

fi  the  famous  sculptor 
is  name  is  Hugo." 
Jlo?" 

'ortunate  and  wretched, 
1  is  lovely,  and  he  wor- 
3  himself  with  fury  and 
ains  in  Florence,  and  he 
lo  him  some  harm." 
3  my  husband  from  the 
rhose  daughter  he  would 
1  a  hard,  scornful  laugh. 
.  much  of  me  ;  but  what 
think  that  Castellara  is 

the  best  of  reasons,  the 

dstaken,"  said  the  Duch- 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR 


267 


ess  with  a  sudden  flash  of  the  eyes.  « It  is  not  Castel- 
lara, but  I  know  who  it  is  that  loves  the  pretty  Lisa, 
and  I  will  protect  her  from  him.  You  can  tell  Signor 
Hugo  that  he  is  mistaken.  Castellara  does  not  want 
his  daughter ;  but  another  does  from  whom  he  will 
have  to  gnard  her  with  the  greatest  vigilance.  But  I 
will  see  him,  I  will  take  the  girl  under  n)y  own  care. 
Yes,  I  will  watch  her  closely ;  so  closely  that  her  lover 
will  never  find  her." 

«  Thank  you,  cousin.  It  seems  that  I  have  come  to 
the  very  one  that  can  best  protect  her,  since  you  know 
wliere  the  danger  lies.  Now,  I  will  see  Castellara  and 
try  all  my  powers  of  persuasion  to  induce  him  not  to 
engage  in  a  duel  with  Valdimer,  and  then  all  may  be 
well,  and  this  cloudy  horizon  become  bright  and  clear 


again. 


«  As  you  like,  cousin.  I  am  indifferent.  I  care  not 
how  it  ends  ;  you  are  strong  and  hopeful,  and  I  have 
lost  all  faith  and  trust  in  anything  good,  and  am  weak 
and  wavering." 

«  Do  not  despair,  Elena ;  there  must  be  some  happi- 
ness in  store  for  you.  Look  on  the  bright  side  of  things. 
Take  care  of  that  lovely  child  who  needs  your  protec- 
tion, and  I  will  succeed  in  bringing  about  a  reconcilia- 
tion between  Castellara  and  Valdimer,  and  all  will  go 
smoothly  again," 

The  Duchess  looked  after  her  cousin  as  he  went 


m- 


268  ENBICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 

away,  and  said,  bitterly:  "And  so  he  too  has  seen  her 
and  is  interested  in  her.     He  will  love  her,  and  Valdi- 
iner  loves  her.     She  is  young  and  beautiful,  and  I  am 
old  and  worn.     1  have  lost  my  power  over  the  only 
heart  I  cared  for  in  the  world,  and  that  child,  that  igno- 
rant, low-born  child,  has  won   hira  from  me.     Good 
Heavens!  how  desperate  his  passion  and  impatience 
must  be  when  he  resorts  to  such  means  to  possess  her. 
And  Enrico  has  frustrated  his  plans.     In  that  he  has 
been  my  friend,  and  he  asks  me  to  protect  her  from 
Castellara.    It  is  not  Castellara  I  will  protect  her  from, 
but  from  Valdimer  Nordiskoff." 

When  Enrico  sought  the  presence  of  the  Duke  of 
Castellara,  he  found  him  in  his  room,  contrary  to  his 
expectation;  for,  although  he  had  received  a  request 
from  him  to  act  as  his  second  in  the  intended  duel,  he 
scarcely  thought  to  find  him  quietly  at  home  if  he  was 
in  any  way  concerned  in  the  abduction  of  Lisa. 

Instead  6i  meeting  him  with  an  air  of  excited  ex- 
pectancy and  assumed  youthfulness,  such  as  would 
have  been  the  case  had  he  been  engaged  in  so  question- 
able an  act  of  gallantry,  he  looked  old  and  worn  and 
very  serious,  and  there  was  a  grim  determination  in  his 
voice  as  he  welcomed  Enrico. 

"Elena  is  right,"  thought  the  Count,  "and  the 
hunchback  is  wrong.  The  girl  has  some  other  lover 
than  Castellara.    There  is  some  mystery  that  I  have 


MEDIATOR. 

so  he  too  has  seen  her 
ill  love  her,  and  Valdi- 
id  beautiful,  and  I  am 
J  power  over  the  only 
id  that  child,  that  igno- 

hira  from  me.  Good 
)as8ion  and  impatience 
h  means  to  possess  lier. 
plans.  In  that  he  has 
[ue  to  protect  her  from 

I  will  protect  her  from, 

•esence  of  the  Duke  of 
is  room,  contrary  to  his 
had  received  a  request 
in  the  intended  duel,  he 
uietly  at  home  if  he  was 
bduction  of  Lisa, 
th  an  air  of  excited  ex- 
ifulness,  Buch  as  would 
n  engaged  in  so  question- 
ooked  old  and  worn  and 
nvax  determination  in  his 

b  the  Count,  "and  the 
rirl  has  some  other  lover 
ome  mystery  that  1  have 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR 


269 


not  yet  fathomed.    What  could  the  Duke  have  been 
doing  there  1    It  was  his  handkerchief,  certainly,  with 
his  coat-of-arms  and  monogram  in  the  corner;  and  the 
hunchback  is  positive  as  to  the  waiting  carriage,  the 
liveries  of  the  servants,  and  the  man  whom  he  met  at 
his  door.    He  followed  him,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt 
but  what  the  secret  visitor  to  the  studio  was  the  Duke  ; 
and  yet  the  Duchess  seems  positive  in  her  assertion  that 
it  was  not  her  husband,  and  she  is  always  ready  to  be- 
lieve  anything  evil  of  him.     I  would  give  much  to 
know  whom  she  suspects  ;  her  manner  and  her  expres- 
sion were  strange.    If  there  was  any  reason  in  such  a 
statement  I  should  say  she  spoke  and  looked  like  one 
devoured  with  jt^alousy  ;  but  that  cannot  be,  she  does 
not  care  enough  for  the  Dnke  to  be  moved  by  any  infi- 
delity on  his  part;  beside, she  declares  that  it  was  not 
he,  and  his  manner  now  certainly  confirms  her  opinion. 
There  is  a  mystery  that  neither  Hugo  nor  I  can  under- 
stand at  present,  but,  doubtless,  time  and  circumstances 
will  make  everything  clear." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  Enrico,"  said  the  Dnke, 
offering  his  visitor  a  chair  and  drawing  another  close 
beside  him,  «  for  I  am  impatient  to  have  this  matter 
settled  at  once;  say  to-morrow  morning  at  six  o'clock, 
and  I  can  depend  on  you,  can  I  not  "i  " 

« I  should  rather  dissuade  you  from  a  quarrel  with 
Nordiskoff,  Duke." 


270 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


t 


«  What !  would  you  try  to  prevent  rao  from  avenging 
my  dishonor  and  yonrs  also,  for  is  not  my  wife  your 
cousin  ?     I   do  not    understand  you,   Enrico.     This 
insolent   Eussian  has    ruined  the    reputation  of    tlio 
Duchess  of  Castellara,  and  you  would  have  me  sit 
quietly  at  home  and  endure  it  1    Where  is  your  pride, 
your  honor,  the  just  resentment  you  should  feel  against 
this  man  who  has  disgraced  your  cousin  ? " 
•      « I  cannot  agree  with  you,  Duke,  that  my  cousin  is 
disgraced  unless  this  duel  takes  place  ;  that.alone  will 
injure  her  reputation ;  as  it  is,  the  malicious  world  only 
suspects,  and  no  living  being  dare  assert  aught  against 
the  fair  fame  of  the  Duchess  of  Castellara.    But  if  .her 
husband,  who  should  protect  her  from  dishonor,  is  the 
first  to  declare  it  by  fighting  with  his  rival,  then,  in- 
deed, her  ruin  is  completed." 

"And  you  think  I  have  no  just  cause  1"  cried  the 
Duke,  his  metallic  eyes  flashing  like  polished  steel. 

"None  whatever,  except  what  your  jealousy  cre- 
ates." 

«  You  are  insane,  Enrico.  I  have  every  proof  that 
my  wife  and  Nordiskoff  are  imprudently  intimate." 

«  Hush,  Duke,  on  the  instant,  or  /will  be  the  one  to 
fight  with  you.  If  you  have  no  respect  for  your  wife, 
I  will  compel  you  to  have  some  for  my  cousin." 

"Hal  hat  that  sounds  well,  my  young  friend,  but 
wait  until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you,"  said  the 


MEDIATOP. 

Bnt  rao  from  avenging 

is  not  my  wife  your 

you,   Enrico.      Thia 

e    reputation  of    tlio 

L  would  have  me  sit 

Where  is  your  pride, 

ou  should  feel  against 

cousin  ? " 

ike,  that  my  cousin  is 
place  ;  that,  alone  will 
le  malicious  world  only 
re  assert  aught  tigainst 
Castellara.  Bnt  if  .her 
sr  from  dishonor,  is  the 
rith  his  rival,  then,  in- 

ust  cause  1 "  cried  the 
like  polished  steel, 
lat  your  jealousy  cre- 

have  every  proof  that 
orvdently  intimate." 

or  /will  be  the  one  to 
a  respect  for  your  wife, 
I  for  my  cousin." 

my  young  friend,  but 
ve  to  tell  you,"  said  the 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR.  271 

Duke  with  a  mocking  laugh,  «  and  than  I  think  you 
will  be  as  anxious  to  kill  Nordiskoff  as  I  am." 

« I  care  not  what  you  tell  me ;  no  power  on  earth  can 
make  mo  doubt  my  cousin's  virtue.  That  she  feels  a 
deep  and  pure  fi-iendship-call  it  love,  if  you  prefer— 
for  Count  Valdimer,  I  am  aware,  for  she  makes  no 
secret  of  it,  and  if  she  were  free  to-day  she  would  be- 
come  his  wife,  but  as  for  the  vile  assertion  you  make, 
that  is  false,  and  it  shall  not  pass  your  lips  nnre- 
eeuted,"  cried  Enrico  hotly. 

« Calm  yourself,  I  pray,  for  you  but  waste  your 
anger  on  a  most  unworthy  cause.  What  would  you 
say  if  I  should  tell  you  that  the  Duchess  of  Castellara 
meets  her  lover  clandestinely." 

« I  should  say  that  you  were  an  infamous  liar,"  and 
Enrico  glared  defiantly  at  the  Duke,  who  remained 

calm  and  grimly  determined,  without  appearing  to 

notice  the  insult. 

"Tour  language  is  a  little  immoderate,  but  I  will 
let  it  pass  for  the  present,  for  I  have  an  affair  of  more 
impoi-tance  on  ray  mind.  Pray  allow  me  to  continue 
my  statement  of  facts;  unpleasant  though  they  may 
be,  I  am  determined  to  lay  them  before  you.  For  the 
last  three  weeks  your  cousin,  the  Duchess  of  Castel- 
lara, has  met  Count  Valdimer  Nordiskoff  in  a  hum- 
ble house  in  the  Via  di  San  GaUo,  at  least  a  dozen 
times." 


M 


979 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR 


«  Be  careful,  Duke,  how  you  make  snch  assertiona, 
unless  yon  can  prove  thotn." 

"  I  have  the  best  of  proof —my  own  eyes.  I  have  not 
hired  a  spy  to  watch  her  movements,  I  have  followed 
her  myself,  and  have  seen  her  enter  this  house  and  re 
main  there  a  long  time." 

Enrico  started,  and  said  eagerly  :   «  Well,  what  more 

have  you  seei'.  ? " 

«I  have  seen  Count  Nordiskoff  enter   the    same 

house." 

"  And  what  does  that  prove  1 " 

"  It  proves  that  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  and  her 
lover  both  visit  secretly  a  humble  house  in  a  poor 
suburb  of  the  city;  there  is  but  one  inference  to  be 
drawn." 

"It  may  be  an  accident,  a  coincidence;  nothing 

more." 

"  Madre  di  Dio  !  Enrico,  this  is  too  absurd,"  cried 
the  Duke,  angrily.  "  You  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
you  know  well  enough  that  it  is  no  accident.  What 
accident  could  bring  them  together  at  the  same  house, 
the  same  day,  and  in  an  unfrequented  part  of  the  city  ? " 

« Is  it  not  the  house  of  Hugo,  the  famous  sculptor, 
that  the  Duchess  visits  ?  " 

« I  know  not  who  dwells  there.  It  is  a  house  with 
but  one  story  above  the  mezsonino ;  and  there  is  a 
green  gate  to  the  court." 


MEDIATC-n. 

make  snch  assertions, 

■  owii  eyes.  I  have  not 
lents,  I  have  followed 
iter  this  house  and  re 

ly :  «  Well,  what  more 

ikoff  enter   the    same 


of  Castellara  and  her 
nble  house  in  a  poor 
it  one  inference  to  be 

coincidence ;  nothing 

B  is  too  absurd,"  cried 
,  man  of  the  world,  and 
is  no  accident.  What 
ther  at  the  same  house, 
ented  part  of  the  city  ?  " 
fo,  the  famous  sculptor, 

re.  It  is  a  house  with 
onino  :  and  there  is  a 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


273 


«  The  very  place  where  the  artist  lives.  The  Duch- 
ess admires  the  work  of  this  remarkable  genius  greatly  ; 
then  what  more  likely  than  that  she  goes  there  to  attend 
to  some  commission  ?  " 

"  And  the  Count  Valdimer,  does  he  go  there  for  the 
enmo  purpose?"  asked  the  Duke  with  cutting  sarcastn. 

Enrico  made  no  reply  for  a  moment,  but  seemed  to 
be  thinking  deeply.  At  last  he  said :  «  PerhaiiS  this 
artist  may  have  a  pretty  daughter  who  attracts  Nordis- 

koff." 

«  I  know  not  whether  he  has  a  daughter,  and  I  care 
not.  You  will  not  blind  me  with  any  such  flimsy  ex- 
cuses." 

«  Ah  1 "  thought  Enrico,  "the  Duchess  was  not  mis- 
taken when  she  said  that  some  other  than  Castellara 
was  the  girl's  lover.    There  is  no  acting  here ;  he  is 
perfectly  honest  in  what  he  says,  and  too  deeply  moved 
to  resort  to  any  ruses  to  mislead  me.    It  is  as  clear  as 
day  to  me,  now.     Valdimer  is  in  love  with  the  angelic 
Lisa.     It  was  he  who  visited  her.    It  was  he  who  tried 
to  abduct  her,  and  the  Duchess  suspects  him  because 
of  the  letter  Hugo  found,  and  makes  some  excuse  to 
go  there  that  she  may  have  positive  proof  before  she 
accuses  him.      And  Castellara   has    been  indiscreet 
enough  to  follow  his  wife  and  linger  around  the  artist's 
house  in  order  to  confront  her  when  she  was  leaving, 
or  to  attack  NordiskofE  secretly.    In  some  of  these 
18» 


m 


274 


ENRICO  FAILS  AS  A  MEDIATOR. 


visits  tho  hunchback  has  seen  him,  and  eager  to  accept 
any  proof  that  will  solve  the  mystery  of  his  daiightor'fl 
conduct,  ho  has  fixed  upon  the  Duke." 

Feeling  confident  that  this  was  the  solution  to  the 
whole  problem,  Enrico  tried,  with  all  his  power  of  per- 
suasion, to  convince  the  Duke.  But  it  was  useless ;  he 
was  fully  satisfied  of  his  wife's  infidelity,  and  deter- 
mined to  be  revenged  ujwn  his  rival. 

«  It  is  u8oles,s  to  try  to  avert  the  catastrophe,  Enrico," 
ho  said  sternly.  "  I  am  resolved  to  kill  Nordiskoff.  I 
shall  meet  him  to-morrow  morning  at  six  o'clock." 

"  Then,  Duko,  I  must  decline  t<i  act  as  your  second  ; 
for  in  doing  so,  I  would  but  coiifirm  my  couHin's  dis- 
honor." 

«  Very  well,  as  you  like.    We  will  fight,  then,  with- 
out seconds  or  witnesses.    The  duel  shall  bo  Ktiictly 
private,  and  thereby  the  Duchess's  name  will  not  be 
dragged  into  it.    I  will  at  once  write  to  Nordiskoff  to 
meet  me  to-morrow  at  six  o'clock,  wherever  he  prefers, 
and  he  may  have  his  choice  of  weapons.    Then  one  or 
the  other  of  us  must  fall,  for  1  am  resolved  to  end  this 
matter  in  the  only  way  that  it  can  be  honorably  con- 
cluded—by the  death  of  either  him  or  me.    You  will 
keep  our  secret  from  the  world,  Enrico,  and  tell  the 
Duchess  for  me,  if  I  should  not  survive,  that  if  she 
becomes  the  wife  of  Nordiskoff,  she  will  wed  her  hus- 
band's murderer ! " 


MEDIATOR. 


THE  DUEL. 


275 


Tj,  and  eager  to  accept 

stery  of  his  daughtor'fi 

)uke." 

as  the  solution  to  the 

th  all  his  r^>wer  of  per- 

But  it  was  useless ;  he 

s  infidelity,  and  deter- 

rival. 

le  catastrophe,  Enrico," 

1  to  kill  Nordiskoff.     I 

ing  at  six  o'clock." 

1  to  act  as  your  second  ; 

oijflrm  my  oouwin's  dis- 

"o  will  fight,  then,  with- 
>  duel  shall  bo  s-tiictly 
less's  name  will  not  be 
B  write  to  Nordiskoff  to 
jk,  wherever  he  prefers, 
weapons.  Then  one  or 
am  resolved  to  end  this 
can  be  honorably  con- 
r  him  or  me.  You  will 
Id,  Enrico,  and  tell  the 
not  survive,  that  if  she 
I,  she  will  wed  her  hus- 


CIIAPTER  XVIII. 

TIXT.  DUEL. 

IlIE  night  that  followed  the  attempted  abduc- 
tion of  Lisa  was  a  terrible  one  to  the  poor 
hunchback.      During  the  long  and   weary 
hours  of  silence  and  darkness,  he  paced  back  and  forth 
in  the  vast  studio,  never  pausing  to  sleep  or  rest,  for  a 
terrible  purpose  had  taken  possession  of  hitn,  and  he 
was  struggling  with  it  fiercely,  striving  to  conquer  it 
in  vain  ;  turning  over  and  over  in  his  mind  every 
reason  for  and  against  the  act  he  contemplated.    He 
was  not  a  depraved  being ;  he  had  not  a  cruel  nature  ; 
there  was  much  that  was  good  and  noble  in  his  com- 
pound character,  a  mixture  of  tenderness  and  gentle- 
ness  with  vindictive  hate  and  tigerish  ferocity.    The 
good  was  on  the  surface  and' appeared  uppermost  in 
his  daily  life.    The  evil  was  the  lower  strata,  that  only 
the  deepest  wrong,  tiie  strongest  desire  for  revenge 
could  reach ;  but,  when  once  touched  and  troubled,  no 
earthly  power  could  calm  or  allay  the  demon  that 
raged  with  awful  fury. 

Since  his  earliest  childhood  there  had  been  one  un- 
dying purpose  in  his  heait,  one  intense,  deep-rooted 


:M 


I 


!l 


) 


P 

ft 

IV 


270  TITP!  DUEL. 

liiito  fttid  dnsiro  for  vennjcanco.  ITo  liad  coii(!onle(l  it 
fltid  uonrisliod  it  in  secret,  and  kept  it  ftlive  with  tlio 
memory  of  hia  >n  .ther'*  tears,  her  poverty,  and  deiith, 
and  his  own  despised  sitforing  childhood,  cuftt  out 
from  all  human  love  Pnd  pity;  a  forlorn,  untV,rtiumto 
<;reatnre  thrown  upon  the  mercy  of  a  hard  world,  to 
live  or  die  as  it  might  happen. 

Ai)d  who  had  been  the  cause  of  his  mother's  woe 
and  ruin,  his  own  poverty  and  suffering,  but  the  author 
of  his  beiiKr,  his  father,  who  had  only  looked  upon  him 
oiice,  and  then  with  loathing  ?  It  was  not  natural,  one 
iiught  say,  for  i\  <\iM  to  hate  the  being  who  gave  him 
life ;  but  Hugo  was  in  a  degree  unnatural,  his  nature 
was  as  crooked  and  dwarfed  as  his  person,  and  this 
man,  even  though  he  was  his  father,  had  wrought  him 
only  evil.  He  owod  him  nothing  but  suffering,  and 
Bcorn,  and  misery  I  then  why  should  he  feel  that  affec- 
tion which,  after  all,  is  more  the  result  of  patient,  faith- 
ful love  bestowed  on  a  child  by  a  parent,  than  any 
natural  impulse  ? 

As  I  said,  he  had  always  hated  the  man  who  had 
wrought  such  woe  for  his  mother,  such  misery  for  him- 
self, and  had  cherished  the  deep-rooted  determination 
to  revenge  his  mother's  wrongs  and  his  own  mis- 
fortunes if  his  enemy  ever  crossed  his  path.  Tni  as 
-  the  years  passed  away  and  the  bitter  sorrows  of  his 
early  days  were  blurred  and  softened  by  time,  he 


ITo  liftd  con(!cnle(l  it 

kept  it  ftlive  with  tlio 

ur  poverty,  niid  death, 

g  ehililh(M»(l,  cast   out 

a  forlorn,  untortiinafo 

:'y  of  a  hard  world,  to 

le  of  his  mothor'a  woe 
iffering,  but  the  author 
I  only  looked  upon  him 
[t  waB  not  natural,  one 
le  being  who  gave  him 
e  tninatural,  his  nature 
18  his  person,  and  this 
ithor,  had  wrought  him 
ling  but  suffering,  and 
lould  he  feel  that  affec- 
)  result  of  patient,  f  alth- 
by  a  parent,  than  any 

ated  the  man  who  had 
er,  such  misery  for  him- 
ap-rooted  determination 
igs  and  his  own  mis- 
>ssod  his  path.  Vnt  as 
16  bitter  sorrows  of  his 
softened  by  time,  he 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


V 


f{<5 


1.0 


I.I 


IflM  IIIIIM 
■^  !■■  mil  2  2 


1.8 


11-25  111.4  11.6 


^  ^V^ 


7 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  U580 

(716)  872-4503 


^^^^"        ^ 

\#% 
^ 


L 


'^13'?5iBaM!S3Sg'igSiaSS!Sr>T»e!»?s»jaH^^ 


4^ 


.<5> 


'^ 


«' 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


KM?.- 


TBE  DUEL. 


277 


ceased  to  feel  the  keen  desire  for  vengeance,  the  gnaw- 
hvr  hatred  toward  this  unknown  father,  until  he  dis- 
covered the  danger  that  threatened  his  adored  child. 
This  aroused  the  demon  slumbering  witliin  him,  and  it 
Beemed  as  though,  with  one  fatal  stroke,  ho  could 
avenge  all  the  wrongs  that  had  blighted  his  life.     The 
Duke  of    Castellara    represented    the  betmyer,  the 
spoiler  of  the    innocent  and    defenceless,  one  who 
Bought  to  ruin  the  girl  he  loved  so  passionately,  and 
the°only  being  on  earth  who  loved  him  ;  and  he  would 
deceive  her  and  blight  her  sweet,  young  life,  crush  her, 
and  kill  her  as  some  one  had  his  mother. 

And  so  he  paced  the  night  away,  restlessly  longing 
for  the  dawn,  that  he  might  begin  his  work  of  retribu- 
tion, his  face  ghastly,  his  eyes  wild  and  red,  his  long, 
thin  hands  clenched  convulsively,  and  his  bent  body 
shaking  as  though  an  ague  racked  him  from  head  to 

foot. 

«A  little  while,"  he  said,  «  but  a  little  while  and 
the  hunger  in  my  soul  shall  be  satisfied ;  hate,  revenge, 
and  all  the  dark  desires  that  fill  my  heart  shall  be  sur- 
feited. I  will  pursue  b-m,  I  will  follow  him  like  his 
shadow  until  the  moment  comes  when  I  can  strike  him 
to  the  heart.  Oh !  blissful  moment,  so  long  desired, 
thou  art  near,  thou  art  near." 

He  watched  the  horizon  faintly  reddening  in  the 
east,  the  banner  of  the  sun  unfolding  in  the  fair  hands 


THE  DUEL. 


of  the  morning,  the  pearly  and  violet  clouds  breaking 
up  and  floating  away  from  the  gate  of  dawn,  and  he 
thought :  "  Before  this  same  sun  goes  down,  he  will  be 
where  ho  can  work  no  more  mischief.  Ilis  proud  head 
will  be  laid  low,  his  cruel  heart  colder  in  death  than  it 
ever  was  in  life ;  his  ear  as  deaf  to  the  raUsic  of  the 
world  he  loved,  as  it  was  to  the  cries  of  anguish  he 
BO  often  wrung  from  his  defenceless  victims.  Gray- 
haiied  sinner,  I  will  send  thee  nnshriven  to  the  place 
prepared  for  thee  ;  thou  shalt  not  vex  her  sweet  soul  in 
paradise,  thou  shalt  be  consumed  in  eternal  torture, 
■while  she  yon  would  ruin  will  one  day  live  with  God 
in  peace." 

At  last  the  dim  light  of  early  dawn  beamed  into  the 
studio,  and  Hugo,  creeping  softly  to  the  door  of  Lisa's 
room,  listened  intently.  Her  quiet,  regular  breathing, 
told  him  that  the  girl  was  sleeping  the  unbroken  sleep 
of  the  iimocent.  With  a  trembling  step  he  approached 
the  bed  where  she  lay  like  the  rosy  goddess  of  youth 
and  love,  her  silken  lashes  resting  on  her  cheek, 
her  golden  hair  making  a  halo  round  her  head,  her 
sweet  lips  parted,  showing  the  pearls  beneath,  one 
white,  exquisitely  moulded  arm  thrown  upward  over  the 
pillow,  and  the  other  palm  pressed  under  her  flushed 
cheek.  As  she  lay  there,  wrapped  in  repose,  she  seemed 
more  like  a  lovely  picture  than  a  living  being,  and  the 
poor  hunchback,  with  his  haggard  face,  marred  by  the 


iolet  clouds  breaking 
gate  of  dawn,  and  he 
goes  down,  he  will  be 
lief,  Ilis  proud  head 
iolder  in  death  than  it 
,f  to  the  raUsic  of  the 
e  cries  of  anguish  ho 
jeless  victims.  Gray- 
nshriven  to  the  place 
t  vex  her  sweet  soul  in 
3d  in  eternal  torture, 
me  day  live  with  God 

dawn  beamed  into  the 
J  to  the  door  of  Lisa's 
let,  regular  breathing, 
ng  the  unbroken  sleep 
ng  step  he  approached 
rosy  goddess  of  youth 
esting  on  her  cheek, 
)  round  her  head,  her 
!  pearls  beneath,  one 
brown  upward  over  the 
jsed  under  her  flushed 
:d  in  repose,  she  seemed 
a  living  being,  and  the 
rd  face,  marred  by  the 


THE  DUEL. 


279 


evil  demon  that  possessed  him,  looked  like  a  weird 
spirit  of  darkness  hovering  near  her. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  silently  gazing  at  her,  then 
slowly  there  dawned  upon  his  face  an  expression  of  un- 
utterable love  and  sorrow,  and  tears — large,  hot  tears- 
gathered  and  fell  from  his  eyes  like  drops  of  rain  from 
the  heavy  clouds  preceding   a  tempest.     "Ohl    my 
treasure,  my  darling,  was  ever  a  human  being  loved  as 
I  love  you  ? "  he   murmured  in   a  husky   voice.     "  I 
would  give  every  drop  of  my  heart's  blood  for  you,  I 
would  suffer  tortures  to  save  you  from  one  moment  of 
pain,  and  yet  you  think  me  harsh  and  cruel,  and  with- 
hold your  love  and  confidence  from  me.    Now,  to  save 
you,  I  am  about  to  stain  my  soul  with  the  blood  of  a 
fellow-creature ;  I  am  about  to  become  a  monster,  a 
wretch,  to  be  feared  and  abhorred  by  all,  to  be  hunted 
down  and  driven  from  the  earth.     And  yet  I  do  not 
hesitate  ;  to  save  you  1  would  commit  any  sin,  I  would 
endure  any  punishment.    God  knows  I  did  not  bring 
this  upon  myself;  I  have  wronged  no  one;  I  have 
lived  in  peace  apart  from  the  world;  I  have  asked 
nothing,  except  a  place  to  labor  in  and  a  shelter  for 
this  child  I  worship.    And  the  humble  sanctuary  of 
my  home  has  been  invaded,  my  happiness  destroyed, 
and  my  Lisa's  honor  endangered  by  this  gray-haired, 
ruthless  spoiler.    But  I  will  save  you,  I  will  protect 
you,  even  though  it  costs  me  ray  life.    Now,  farewell. 


K^jj^^JSafe^H^ jWaS'4w*;j7<tfiftpitWWiyW*W  .*'Triaiatfa:.;.w<j.i  iti  il>fi- inirSwM*"-^ 


280 


THE  DUEL 


When  your  miserable  father  looks  tipoTi  yon  again  he 
will  be'a  murderer;"  then  stooping,  he  pressed  his  lips 
to  her  hair  and  garments  with  passionate  fervor,  not 
daring  to  touch  her  face  lest  ho  should  awaken  her, 
and  with  a  long-drawn,  convulsive  sob  he  went  away 
without  one  backward  glance. 

When  he  reached  the  streets,  the  city  was  already 
awake.     The  patient  toilers  were  hastening  to  their 
toil,  rubbing  sleep  from  their  heavy  eyelids  as  they 
went.     The  air  was  fresh  and  damp  with  a  frosty  chill ; 
but  it  did  not  cool  the  fever  of  his  scorching  brow  and 
burning  eyes,  nor  quench  the  fires  of  passion  raging 
within  him.    Without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  he 
hurried  on  rapidly,  and  never  paused  until  he  reached 
the  Ponte  Vecchio.     The  merchants  were  just  opening 
their  shops,  and  more  than  one  looked  after  him  and 
wondered  why  Signor  Hugo  was  abroad  so  early.     An 
old  man  standing  in  a  door,  with  his  hands  under  his 
leather  apron,  spoke  to  him,  and  he  looked  up  like  one 

in  a  dream. 

«  Whither  .are  you  hurrying  so  fast,  this  morning,  i«y 

friend?" 

The  hunchback  stopped  suddenly,  and  pushing  his 
hat  from  his  foi-ehead,  wiped  off  the  great  drops  of 
sweat  that  had  gathered  there,  and  then  replied,  in  a 
strange,  absent  voice : 

« I  am  but  out  for  the  air  and  exerciee;  too  close 


3  npoTi  yon  again  he 
(T,  he  pressed  his  lips 
lassionate  fervor,  not 
shonld  awaken  her, 
e  Bob  he  went  away 

the  city  was  already 
e  hastening  to  their 
icavy  eyelids  as  they 
ip  with  a  frosty  chill ; 
8  scorching  brow  and 
•es  of  passion  raging 
)  the  right  or  left,  he 
nsed  nntil  he  reached 
mts  were  just  opening 
looked  after  him  and 
abroad  so  early.     An 
I  his  hands  under  his 
he  looked  up  like  one 

fast,  this  morning,  i\jy 

enly,  and  pushing  his 
iff  the  great  drops  of 
and  then  replied,  in  a 

nd  exerciee;  too  close 


THE  DUEL. 


281 


attention  to  my  work  has  made  me  nervous  and  weakly, 
Master  Ercole." 
"By  my  faith,  you  do  look  poorly.    Sit  yon  down 

and  rest  a  bit." 

Hugo  entered  the  little  shop  of  Ercole,  who  was  an 
armorer,  and  looking  about  carelessly  he  said,  "  How 
goes  your  business,  friend  Ercole?  I  see  you  have  a 
good  stock  of  arms  upon  your  walls." 

« Indeed  I  have  many  more  than  I  wish,  but  these 
times  of  peace  are  not  favorable  to  my  trade  ;  however, 
it  is  otherwise  with  you,  Signore,  for  I  hear  that  you 
are  well  np  in  the  world,  with  more  ordere  from  the 
nobility  than  you  can  easily  attend  to." 

"Yes,  fortune  favors  me,  and  I  am  truly  to  be 
envied,"  returned  Hugo  with  gloomy  sarcasm. 

«  Well,  it's  time  some  good  luck  came  to  you,  for 
yon  have  had  your  share  of  trouble  as  well  as  another." 

"  That  is  tr^ie,  my  friend,"  said  Hugo,  walking  to 
the  far  end  of  the  shop  and  taking  a  dagger  from  a 
hook,  which  he  turned  in  his  hand,  running  his  finger 
carelessly  over  the  blade.  "This  weapon  is  of  curious 
and  antique  workmanship.  I  like  the  handle,  it  is 
truly  an  artistic  design." 

"  Yes,  it  is  an  antique,  a  Toledo  blade,  and  a  cinque- 
cento  handle." 

"  What  do  you  value  it  at?  " 

"  Oh !  Signore,  in  these  times  it  is  nselesa  to  talk  of 


>  THE  DUEL. 

the  value  of  a  thing.    I  have  had  it  a  long  time,  and  I 
will  sell  it  for  »ix  scudi.'" 

"  Very  well ;  it  pleases  me,  and  I  will  take  it.  I  have 
a  fancy  for  antiquities,  as  you  know,  and  my  means  will 
allow  me  to  indulge  my  taste  now  and  then,"  returned 
Hugo  as  he  counted  out  the  money. 

Then,  wishing  the  armorer  good  morning,  he  put  the 
dagger  under  his  coat  and  went  out  hastily. 

"An  early  bird  catches  the  worm,"  mused  Master 
Ercole,  as  lie  watched  the  hunchback  hurry  down  the 
bridge ;  «  and  such  a  valuable  worm-why,  1  have  made 
more  than  five  scudi  on  that  bargain;  but  I  wonder 
what  is  the  matter  with  the  Gobho,he  seems  excited 
and  more  absent-minded  than  usual,  and  he  is  a  strange 
ci-eature  always.    Five  «cwi»,  what  luck ;  five  «c«<^i  be- 
fore breakfast— I  wish  I  might  make  it  every  day," 
and  Master  Ercole  stationed  himself  at  the  door  again 
in  the  hope  of  catching  another  worm. 

Hugo,  with  the  dagger  pressed  close  to  hie  heart, 
hurried  over  the  bridge,  and  down  the  Lung'  Amo, 
in  the  direction  of  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Cast«l- 
lara.  Just  as  he  reached  the  comer,  near  the  grand 
entrance,  a  carriage  drove  out  of  the  court,  and  passed 
him  rapidly,  and  one  glance  through  the  window 
showed  him  the  face  he  hated  with  deadly  hate,  as 
haggard,  as  pale,  and  worn  as  his  own,  looking,  with 
grim  determination,  out  at  the  busy  streeta,  as  though 


THE  DUEL. 


283 


I  it  a  long  time,  and  I 

I I  will  take  it.  I  have 
)\v,  and  my  means  will 
w  and  then,?'  returned 

d  morning,  he  put  the 
)ut  hastily. 

vorm,"  mused  Master 
iback  hurry  down  the 
rm — why,  1  have  made 
largain ;  but  I  wonder 
»Wo,  he  seems  excited 
ual,  and  he  is  a  strange 
lat  luck ;  five  scudi  be- 
t  make  it  every  day," 
iself  at  the  door  again 
worm. 

Bed  close  to  his  heart, 
lown  the  Lung'  Arno, 
of  the  Duke  of  Castftl- 
conier,  near  the  grand 
)f  the  court,  and  passed 
(  through  the  window 
id  with  deadly  hate,  as 
his  own,  looking,  with 
I  busy  streets,  as  though 


it  saw  nothing  near,  for  the  cold  metallic  gaze  was 
fixed  on  something  within  its  own  visicm.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  dead  face  of  a  rival,  or  some  haunti.ig  mem- 
cry  of  long  ago  that  roee  before  the  Duke  of  Castellara 
ill  the  clear  morning  air. 

The  hunchback,  on  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  occu- 
pant of  the  carriage,  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  which 
sounded  more  like  the  howl  of  a  wild  beast  than 
anything  human,  and  started  as  though  he  were  about 
to  rush  after  his  enemy,  when  a  second  thought 
convinced  him  that  such  a  course  was  foolish,  and 
but  a  waste  of  time.  Looking  around,  he  saw  a  non- 
descript vehicle  creeping  along  slowly,  with  a  driver 
only  half  awake  upon  the  box.  Beckoning  to  tlie 
man  as  he  approached,  Hugo  held  out.  a  piece  of  gold, 
and  said, eagerly,  "Keep  that  carriage  in  sight,  and  tliis 
sliall  bo  yours." 

"  All  right,  Signore ;   get  in  quickly,  and  I  will  do 
it,"  replied  the  Jehu,  fully  awake  at  the  sight  of  the 

money. 

After  some  rapid  driving  and  turning  through  -. 
number  of  streets,  the  carriage  in  advance  suddeuiy 
stopped,  and  the  Duke  descended.  Saying  a  few 
words  to  the  driver,  who  turned  back,  he  glanced 
hastily  around  him,  and  theii  walked  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  Cascine. 
Hugo,  far  enough  behind  to  escape  observation,  also 


_M 


2S4 


THE  DUEL. 


descended,  pai^,  »'«!  diBmisscd  his  driver,  and  then 
caiitiouBly  f..llowed  the  Duke  until  they  were  near  the 
Porla  al  Prato,  when  another  carriage  rapidly  turned 
into  the  V^ia  al  Prato,  and  stopped  a  few  paces  from 
the  hunchhack,  who  saw  with  surprise  his  patron,  the 
Russian  Count,  Valdiiner  Nordiskoff,  get  out  hastily, 
dismiss  his  servant,  and  then  hurry  away  toward  the 

Cascine. 

What  conld  this  mean  1    At  first  Hugo  thought  that 
gome  special  Providence  had  ordered  the  Duke  of  Cas- 
tellara  out  for  an  early  morning  walk,  for  the  express 
purpose  of  giving  him  an  opportunity  to  wreak  his 
vengeance  upon  him  in  some  retired  spot  of  the  gar- 
den?   But  why  was  Nordiskoff  here  also?   Had  he  too 
some  wrong  to  requite,  and  was  he  about  to  cheat  him 
out  of  his  much-desired  revenge?     This  thought  mad- 
dened him,  for  now  that  he  saw  his  victim  before  him, 
his  fingers  longed  to  clench  the   dagger  that  was  to 
drink  his  heart's  blood. 

Both  were  in  advance  of  him,  and  as  they  entered 
the  gate,  they  tnrned  in  different  directions  to  avoid 
the  observation  of  the  custodian  or  gardeners,  for  two 
distinguished-looking  men,  in  spite  of  their  plain  dress, 
and  their  being  on  foot,  could  not  fail  to  attract  some 
attention  at  that  early  hour. 

No  one  noticed  the  hunchback,  as  with  bowed  form 
and  bent  head  he  wandered  wildly  from  one  path  to 


TUE  DUEL. 


286 


1  his  driver,  and  then 
Dtil  thoy  were  near  tlie 
arriago  rapijUy  turned 
ped  a  tow  paces  from 
mrprise  his  patron,  the 
liskoff,  get  out  hastily, 
liurry  away  toward  the 

first  Hugo  thought  that 
dered  the  Duke  of  Cas- 
g  walk,  for  the  express 
portunity  to  wreak  hia 
retired  spot  of  the  gar- 
here  also  \  Had  ho  too 
B  he  about  to  cheat  him 
re?  This  thought  mad- 
«r  his  victim  before  him, 
the  dagger  that  was  to 

im,  and  as  they  entered 
rent  directions  to  avoid 
an  or  gardeners,  for  two 
spite  of  their  plain  dress, 
i  not  fail  to  attract  some 

ick,  as  with  bowed  form 
wildly  from  one  path  to 


another,  searching  every  thicket  and  clump  of  trees 
with  his  burning  eyes  to  discover  the  figures  that  ho 
had  entirely  lost  siglit  of.     Wlioro  could  they  liavo  con- 
waled  themselves?    Had  thoy  come  to  tight,  and  wcro 
thoy  already  engaged  in  deadly  combat  in  some  eeclu- 
dcd  spot  of  the  garden  where  he  could  not  find  them, 
and  now,  when  his  triumph  was  so  near,  was  he  about  to 
bo  defrauded  of  his  bloodthirsty  purpose  ?     Like  some 
wild  beast  that  had  suddenly  lost  the  scout  of  its  prey, 
he  turned  and  rushed  hither  and  thither,  among  the 
winding  paths,  the  sweet,  silent  solitude,  under   the 
BluidowB  of  the  trees,  in  and  out,  bewildered  and  mad- 
dened.    He  sought  them   in  vain.    If  the  earth  had 
opened  and  swallowed  them  thoy  could  not  have  disap- 
peared more  qnickly  and  more  completely. 

At  last,  hearing  a  sound,  he  stood  still  and  listened. 
It  was  nothing  but  the  shrill  voice  of  a  bird  calling  to 
its  mate.  Again  he  rushed  on  until  he  gained  the  far- 
ther boundary  of  the  garden  where  the  trees  grew  closer 
and  the  shadows  were  denser,  and  there  distinctly 
another  sound  smote  his  ear ;  with  bated  breath  and 
staring  eyes  he  bent  his  head  and  hollowed  his  hands 
behind  his  eara  to  catch  the  metallic  click,  click,  sharp 
and  clear  on  the  still  morning  air. 

It  was  the  unmistakable  clashing  of  rapiers  and  the 
two  men  were  fighting  near  him.  Stooping  low  and 
creeping  cautiously  among  the  underbrush  in  the  di- 


tt,S««>***^ 


M$ 


TJIB  DUEL. 


rcction  of  the  sound,  a  few  paces  frotn  him  he  saw  a 
small  open  glade  bordered  by  tall  trees  that  protected 
it  from  the  rays  of  the  sun  as  well  as  from  tbc  obtrii- 
bIvo  eyes  of  the  pafisers-by.  Shut  in  by  this  solid  wall 
of  shrubbery,  lingo  had  some  dilHculty  in  Obtaining  a 
view  of  the  two  men,  but  at  last,  by  gently  parting  the 
bonghs  and  creeping  slowly  and  softly  forward,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  concealing  hhnself  behind  the  trunk  of  a 
tree  where  he  could  command  the  situation  without 
being  seen  by  the  combatants. 

There,  face  to  face,  with  deadly  hate  in  each  keen, 
steady  glance,  and  cool  determination  in  each  well-con- 
trolled stroke,  stood  the  Dnke  of  Castellara  and  Count 
Valdimer  Nordiskt.ff.  They  were  well  matched  in 
skill,  each  equally  calm,  self-possessed,  and  watchful, 
with  unflinching  gaze,  firmly  compressed  lips,  and 
strongly  nerved  arm,  each  thrust  and  parry  was  well 
studied  and  masterly. 

As  Hugo  watched  them  in  breathless  silence,  it  was 
difficult  to  tell  which  would  be  the  victor,  they  seemed 
so  well  matched  as  to  skill,  so  resolute  as  to  intention, 
so  thoroughly  resolved,  so  unyielding.  Each  well- 
directed  stroke  was  met  with  an  equally  well-directed 
defence,  and  there  was  no  faltering,  no  advantage  for 
several  moments  on  either  side. 

The  hunchback  stood  opposite  Valdimer,  and  per- 
haps some  movement  on  his  part  startled  the  Duke'a 


TUB  DUEL. 


2S7 


OS  from  him  he  saw  ft 
11  trco8  that  protectod 
'oil  aa  from  the  obtrii- 
\\t  ill  by  this  solid  wall 
lilliculty  in  obtaining  a 
t,  by  gently  parting  the 
softly  forward,  ho  snc- 
)ohind  the  trnnk  of  a 
i  the  situation  without 

dly  hate  in  each  keen, 
nation  in  each  wcU-con- 
jf  Castellara  and  Count 
Hrere  well  matched  in 
assessed,  and  watchful, 
y  compressed  lips,  and 
ust  and  parry  was  well 

jreathless  silence,  it  waa 
I  the  victor,  they  seemed 
resolute  as  to  intention, 
myielding.  Each  well- 
an  equally  well-directed 
tering,  no  advantage  for 

site  Valdimer,  and  per- 
part  startled  the  Duke'a 


opiwncnt  and  attracted  his  attention,  for  his  eyes  sud- 
doiily  lost  thoir  steady,  fixed  gaze,  his  eyelids  q\iivcrod, 
mid  a  deeper  pallor  orcj)t  over  his  face.  The  sight  of 
tho  haggard  figure  behind  the  tree  had  terriliod  and 
lumorvcd  him.  What  was  ho  doing  there  1  Had  ho, 
too,  come  to  be  avenged  upon  him  ?  was  the  thought 
that  passed  like  lightning  through  Nordiskoff's  mind 
raiisin"-  him  to  lose  his  advantage,  to  faltor,  to  waver; 
but  just  as  tho  Duke  was  about  to  make  a  lunge  at  liis 
unprotected  breast,  his  rapier  was  strnck  aside  by  a 
sharp  blow,  and  the  hunchback  rushed  between  tlicm 
with  a  frenzied  cry. 

«  Go ! "  ho  said,  pushing  Valdimer  aside,  "  ai»d  leave 
him  to  me.  I  have  a  greater  wrong  than  you  to 
avenge,"  and  before  the  Duke  could  put  himself  on 
tho  defensive,  Hugo  plunged  his  dagger  to  the  hilt 
into  the  breast  that  was  filled  with  such,  burning  hate 

for  another. 

«My  Godl"  cried  NordiskofE.  "What  have  you 
donol"  And  springing  forward  he  supported  tho 
Duke,  who  was  sinking  to  the  ground,  his  dilated  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  hunchback  with  a  look  of  horror. 

«  Leave  me  1 "  he  groaned,  feebly  waving  Hugo  away 
with  his  faPt-failing  strength.  « I  am  dying.  What 
evil  spirit  is  here  to  torment  me  1  Take  him  away, 
Amata,  he  is  a  horror  to  me.  I  loathe  him,  I  hate 
him,  I  will  not  see  him  I " 


w^' 


288 


THE  DUEL. 


Il- 


ls 


•  "Ila!  ha!"  laughed  the  ImncUl.ack,  with  devilish 
glee.  "  My  time  has  come.  I  torment  you,  and  that  is 
well.  I  have  longed,  and  hungered,  and  thirsted  for 
this  moment."  •  ' 

"Amata!  Araata!"   cried   the  Duke  in  a  sinking, 

husky  voice. 

«  Your  Amata  is  not  here,  but  her  wretched,  de- 
spised father  is  before  yon  to  avenge  his  wrongs." 

"For  God's  sake,  stand  aside  1"  cried  Valdimer, 
trying  to  support  the  Duke  ;  "he  is  dying,  and  we  can 
do  nothing  for  him.  Do  you  not  see  that  you  torment 
him  ?    Move  aside,  so  that  he  camiot  look  at  you." 

But  Hugo  pressed  nearer  and  nearer,  bending  to- 
ward the  prostrate  man  until  his  fast  glazing  eyes,  with 
their  look  of  horror,  could  see  no  longer  the  fiendish 
face  gloating  over  his  last  agony. 

« He  is  dead  I "  said  Valdimer,  laying  the  heavy 
head  gently  down  on  the  soft  turf. 

«  Yes,  he  is  dead,  and  I  thank  God  that  my  hand 
dealt  the  fatal  blow.  Now  she  is  safe  f roux  his  deceiv- 
ino-,  and  my  vengeance  is  satisfied." 

«  What  cause  had  you  to  hate  hira  so  bitterly  ? "  cried 
Valdimer,  surprised  and  horror-stricken  at  the  strange 

Bcene. 

«  He  would  have  ruined  my  daughter,  my  only  child  ; 
only  last  night  his  hired  minions  tried  to  steal  her  from 
me.     I  love  her  as  my  life,  aye,  and  better,  and  he 


iincUl-ack,  with  devilish 
Lorment  you,  and  that  is 
igercd,  and  thirsted  iov 

;he  Duke  in  a  sinking, 

but  her  wretched,  de- 
,venge  liis  wrongs." 
sidel"   cried  Valdimer, 
'  he  is  dying,  and  we  can 
not  see  that  you  torment 
cannot  look  at  you." 
and  nearer,  bending  to- 
ns fast  glazing  eyes,  with 
e  no  longer  the  fiendish 

"y- 

dimer,  laying  the  heavy 

turf. 

hank  God  that  my  hand 

le  is  safe  from  his  deceiv- 

sfied." 

,te  him  so  bitterly  ?  "  cried 

ror-stricken  at  the  strange 

J  daughter,  my  only  child  ; 
ions  tried  to  steal  her  from 
J,  aye,  and  better,  and  he 


THE  DUEL. 


289 


would  have  robbed  n.e  of  her,"  cried  the  hunchback 
dropping  his  handkerchief  over  the  ghastly  face  and 

staring  eyes. 

"Wretched  man,  you  know  not  what  you  have 
done,"  said  NordiskofE,  starting  as  though  he  had  re- 
ceived a  blow,  and  turning  as  pale  as  the  dead  before 

^"  « lie  would  have  dishonored  her,  deserted  her,  and 
broken  her  heart;  she  is  all  I  have  in  the  world,  my 
one  ewe  lamb,  my  pure  white  flower;  she  was  good 
and  innocent,  and  truthful,  and  she  loved  the  mis- 
shapen being  before  you  with  a  rare  love,  untd  he  came 
into  her  life  and  won  her  from  me  with  his  wiles  Do 
you  blame  me,  then,  that  I  have  sent  him  where  he  can 

do  no  more  harm?"  ^     ,.  ,    «: 

«  Oh,  unfortunate  creature,"  cried  Nordiskoff,  cove  - 
ire  his  face  to  hide  his  dreadful  agitation,  «  you  will 
Buffer  a  fearful  remorse  some  time  in  the  future  for 

this  deed."  '-  ,  ,  . 

«  He  was  mv  mortal  enemy,  and  I  have  killed  him 
Thank  God  that  my  soul  and  not  yom-s  is  stained  with 
his  murder;  but  go,  save  yourself,  and  we  will  keep 

each  other's  secret." 

"Wretched  man,  I  will  not  betray  you,  although 
you  are  a  murderer,  for  the  Duke  did  not  fall  in  a  fair 
fiffht,  you  took  him  unawares." 

"And  I  saved  your  life;  an  instan^-  more  and  hiB 

13 


90j^  THE  DUEL. 

rapier  would  have  drunk  your  heart's  blood ;  we  are 
even,  you  can  afford  to  keep  my  secret." 

"  And  I  will  do  it ;  may  God  forgive  you  for  your 
fearful  crime,"  said  Valdimer,  as  he  walked  hurriedly 
away  without  looking  again  at  the  prostrate  form  of 
the  Duke,  who  but  a  moment  before  had  stood  face  to 
face  with  him,  strong,  upright,  and  proud,  with  steady 
eye  and  unflinching  hand,  ready  to  deal  out  death  to 
his  opponent.  The  Duke  had  fallen  for  his  misdeeds, 
and  he,  unharmed,  was  leaving  the  spot  without  the 
cnrse  of  blood  upon  his  hands.  Another,  througli  a 
fearful  mistake,  had  dealt  the  death-blow,  saved  his 
life,  and  set  him  free.  Truly,  his  star  of  fortune  was  in 
the  ascendancy. 

When  Count  Valdimer  had  disappeared  among  the 
trees  the  hunchback  picked  up  his  dagger  and  con- 
cealed it  next  his  heart,  then  stooping  over  the  pros- 
trate form  before  him,  he  said  in  a  hollow,  broken  voice, 
"  It  is  done ;  my  wrongs  are  avenged,  my  Lisa  is  saved ; 
but  henceforth  I  bear  the  mark  of  Cain  upon  my  brow, 
and  the  blight  of  crime  in  my  heart.  O  Kevenge  1  thou 
art  a  demon  that  consumes  us  with  remorse  even  iu 
tlie  moment  of  our  triumph."  Then,  with  a  wild, 
searching  glance  around  to  see  that  no  one  was  near, 
he  plunged  into  the  thicket  and  disappeared,  and  the 
Duke  of  Castellara  was  left  alone,  with  the  blue  sky, 
the  trees,  and  the  birds  for  his  companions. 


THE  DUEL. 


291 


lieart'd  blood ;  we  are 

secret." 

forgive  you  for  your 

5  he  walked  hurriedly 

the  prostrate  form  of 

fore  had  stood  face  to 

iid  proud,  with  steady 

to  deal  out  death  to 
ill  en  for  his  luisdeeds, 

the  spot  without  the 

Another,  througli  a 

death-blow,  saved  his 

J  star  of  fortune  was  in 

isappeared  among  the 
his  dagger  and  con- 
tooping  over  the  pros- 
a  hollow,  broken  voice, 
iged,  ray  Lisa  is  saved ; 
of  Cain  upon  my  brow, 
irt.  O  Revenge  1  thou 
with  remorse  even  iu 
Then,  with  a  wild, 
that  no  one  was  near, 
d  disappeared,  and  the 
)ne,  with  the  blue  sky, 
ompanious. 


A  few  houi-8  later  it  was  rumored  all  over  Florence 
that  the  Duke  of  Castellara  was  dead.    The  rich,  the 
powerful,  the  haughty  Duke  was  found  in  an  obscure 
part  of  the  Cascine,  pierced  to  the  heart,  cold    and 
dead,  a  rapier  clenched  in  his  hand,  and  another  at  his 
feet ;  but  the  strangest  part  of  all  was  that  the  weapon 
that  had  given  him  his  death-blow  was  a  dagger  mstead 
of  a  rapier,  as  the  wound  plainly  showed.    There  was 
a  mystery.    That  a  secret  duel  had  taken  place  was 
plain  enough,  but  who  had  been  the  opponent,  and  how 
the  blow  had  been  dealt,  was  enveloped  in  complete 

obscurity.  ^  ..^ 

Of  course  it  was  the  common  topic  of  conversation 
And  while  his  body  lay  in  state,  and  the  crowd  passed 
in  and  out  to  look  at  one  who  had  once  been  the  favor- 
ite  of  Ferdinand,  there  was  a  murmur  of  disapproba- 
tion that  the  authorities  had  taken  no  steps  to  discover 
the  murderer;  but  after  he  was  buried,  the  matter  was 
soon  forgotten,  or,  if  it  was  spoken  of,  there  was  little 
interest  expressed,  for  the  Duke,  although  a  great  and 
rich  noble,  had  not  been  a  good  man,  and  there  must 
have  been  many  a  father  and  husband  who  had  private 
wrongs  to  avenge  and  old  accounts  to  settle. 

A  handsome  young  Russian  noble,  who  rode  with 
Enrico  in  the  funeral  procession,  and  a  bowed  haggard 
man  who  carried  a  blood-stained  dagger  next  his  heart 
could  have  explained   the  whole  mystery,  had  they 


292 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


chosen  to  speak.  But  they  preferred  to  keep  silent — 
and  until  this  day  the  Florentines  do  not  know  by 
whom  the  invincible  Duke  of  Castellara  was  killed. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


HAPPY   AT  LAST. 

OR  six  months  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  had 
been  a  widow,  and  during  that  time  she  had 
remained  in  the  strictest  retirement  at  one  of 
her  villas  near  Florence.   .      - 

The  only  visitor  she  had  received,  the  only  one  that 
she  had  allowed  to  intrude  upon  her  seclusion,  had 
been  her  cousin,  Enrico ;  through  him  alone  she  had 
learned  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  gay  world.  She 
listened  with  interest  to  the  mysterious  stories  con- 
nected with  her  husband's  death,  and  heard  of  the 
public  curiosity  and  speculation  concerning  it,  but 
said  nothing  herself ;  for  it  was  well  understood  be- 
tween her  cousin  and  her,  that  the  Duke  had  gone  out 
to  tight  with  Nordiskoff  and  had  met  his  death  at  the 
hand  of  Hugo  the  hunchback. 

Of  course  the  Duchess  did  not  go  into  retirement  to 
mourn,  for  her  only  feeling  was  one  of  relief  that  at 


IT. 


EAPPT  AT  LAST. 


im 


red  to  keep  silent — 
es  do  not  know  by 
^Uara  was  killed. 


288  of  Castellara  had 

ig  that  time  she  had 

retirement  at  one  of 

ed,  the  only  one  that 
1  her  seclusion,  had 
him  alone  she  had 
the  gay  world.  She 
'sterions  stories  con- 
i,  and  heard  of  the 
I  concerning  it,  but 
well  understood  be- 
e  Duke  had  gone  out 
met  his  death  at  the 

go  into  retirement  to 
one  of  relief  that  at 


last  she  was  free  from  the  galling  fetters  that  had 
bound  her  so  long.  Mistress  of  herself  and  her  hand- 
some fortune,  it  now  seemed  to  her  that  she  might 
begin  life  again  and  blot  out  the  suffering  and  misery 
of  the  past  in  a  brighter  and  happier  future. 

There  appeared  to  be  now  no  obstacle  to  her  union 
with    Nordiskoff,  after  a  suitable  time  had   expired. 
Not   that    she  had    any    respect  for  her  husband's 
memory,  or  any  scruples  on  her  own  account ;  but  slie 
would  not  shock  the  fashionable  world,  where  she  had 
so  long  reigned  a  queen,  by  ignoring  any  of  its  rules 
of  propriety.     So  when  she  remained  shut  up  m  the 
deepest  seclusion  for  six  months  without  ever  seeing 
Valdimer,  she  thought  she  had  fully  complied  with 
the  most  rigorous  laws  of  etiquette  and  well  earned  her 
restoration  to  society  again. 

But    although  she  did  not  see  Nordiskoff    during 
that  time  she  heard  daily  f.-om  him,  and  his  letters 
breathed   the   deepest    and    most    tender  affection; 
for  now  that  she  was  absent  from  him,  with  the  strange 
inconsistency  of  the  human  heart,  he  really  desired 
her  presence,  and  sometimes  regretted  ever  having  met 
the  lovely  Lisa,  who  still  exercised  a  wonderful  power 
over  him.    Of  course  his  love  for  the  obscure  and 
simple  girl  was  not  in  the  least  like  the  feeling  he 
cherished  for  the  proud  and  noble  Duchess  of  Castel- 
lara and  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  think  that  he  might 


294 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


marry  the  Duclioss,  esteem  and  worship  her  as  his 
wife,  and  yet  love  the  adorable  child  upon  whom  he 
had  fixed  his  heart. 

He  could  not  marry  Lisa ;  that  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pected of  a  rich  young  noble,  a  son  of  one  of  the 
oldest  and  proudest  families  of  Eussia.  How  could 
lie,  even  if  he  desired  to  do  so,  ally  himself  with  a 
poor,  low-born  girl,  the  daughter  of  an  unfortunate 
man,  who  knew  nothing  of  his  parentage  %  No,  he 
could  not  marry  the  girl,  and  he  could  not  help  loving 
her ;  but  his  affection  for  her  would  not  in  the  least 
prevent  him  from  uniting  himself  to  the  Duchess,  who 
had  long  loved  him,  and  who  now  being  free,  he  was 
in  honor  bound  to  fulfil  herexpectations. 

With  this  false  and  base  reasoning,  he  prepared  him- 
self to  meet  the  Duchess,  on  her  return  to  the  world,  as 
her  accepted  husband,  while,  at  the  same  time,  he  pro- 
fessed the  deepest  love  for  the  child  who  trusted  and 
adored  him. 

The  sudden  and  tragic  death  of  the  Duke  of  Cas- 
tellara,  and  her  immediate  departure  from  Florence, 
prevented  the  Duchess  from  taking  Lisa  under  her 
protection,  as  she  had  promised  Enrico  she  would  lO, 
and  as  she  was  no  longer  tormented  by  further  m  -cfs 
of  Valdimer's  interest  in  the  girl,  she  began  .o  think 
that,  after  all,  it  was  but  a  young  man's  silly  fancy  for 
a  pretty  face,  which  would  lose  its  charm  as  soon  as 


ST. 

worship  her  as  his 
ihild  upou  whom  he 

t  was  not  to  be  ex- 
&  sou  of  one  of  the 
Eussia.  How  could 
,  ally  himself  with  a 
2r  of  an  unfortunate 
parentage?  No,  he 
could  not  help  loving 
onld  not  in  the  least 
E  to  the  Duchess,  who 
)w  being  free,  he  was 
utatioiis. 

ing,  he  prepared  hiin- 
return  to  the  world,  as 
lie  same  time,  he  pro- 
hild  who  trusted  and 

of  the  Duke  of  Cas- 
irture  from  Florence, 
king  Lisa  under  her 
Enrico  she  would  iO, 
ited  by  further  r.  -cfs 
rl,  she  began  m  think 
;  man's  silly  fancy  for 
its  charm  as  soon  as 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


298 


the  novelty  wore  off.  And  besides,  it  was  humiliating 
to  herself  to  acknowledge  a  feeling  of  jealousy  for  one 
60  far  beneath  her,  or  to  admit,  even  to  her  own  heart, 
that  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  could  have  a  rival. 
And  then,  what  greater  proof  could  she  have  of  Val- 
dimer's  love  and  devotion  than  his  daily  remembrance 
of  her  in  her  retirement,  in  the  form  of  the  most  afEec- 
tionate  letters  that  ever  were  penned  by  a  faithful 

lover  ? 

And  so  their  sentimental  horizon,  that  at  one  time 
had  seemed  so  cloudy,  had   cleared  itself,  and  the 
Duchess  returned  to  her  palace  in  Florence  and  the 
society  of  her  intended  husband,  with  restored  confi- 
dence, and  renewed  faith  in  her  future.     At  times  she 
felt  some  slight  pangs  of  conscience  in  admitting  to 
herself,  that  her  husband  had  perhaps  come  to  his 
death  through  a  mistake,  through  the  frantic  rage  of  a 
man  whom,  possibly,  he  had  never  injured.     At  fii-st 
Bhe  had  believed  Valdimer  to  be  the  guilty  party,    in 
her  jealousy  and  anger  she  had  mentally  accused  him 
of  the  attempted  abduction  of  the  girl ;  but  now  that 
she  thought  calmly  of  it  in  her  renewed  confidence,  it 
seemed  impossible  that  he  could  have  been  base  enough 
to  commit  such   a  crime.      But  Castellara,  her  dead 
husband,  had  been  fully  capable  of  any  wickedness, 
and  doubtless  the  hunchback  had  the  best  of  reasons 
for  his  suspicions.    In  any  case,  Hugo  had  saved  Nor- 


^M 


11, 


296 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


■■  I 

,.■■'1  1 

- !  '  1 , 

h'  i 


I!  ! 


diskdff's  life,  who  was  not  to  hlaino,  becauso  Ciistcllara 
had  insisted  npon  the  duel ;  one  or  the  other  hud  to 
die,  and  Valdinier  would  have  been  the  vietiui  or  the 
murderer  of  her  husband,  therefore  the  hunehl)ack's 
fatal  blow  had  been  dealt  at  the  right  moment,  for  he 
had  avenged  his  own  wrongs,  and  restored  her  freedom 
as  well  as  saved  her  lover.  '  ■  ;    >. 

^  On  the  day  of  the  Duchess's  return  to  Florence,  she 
sat  in  the  same  beautiful  room  that  we  have  already 
described,  waiting  impatiently  the  ari-ival  of  Valdinier. 
At  last  he  came,  and  she,  with  a  cry  of  delight,  met  his 
outstretched  arms,  and  was  clasped  to  his  heart  for  the 
fii-st  time  after  all  her  weary  years  of  waiting. 

"  Your  torment  is  over,  your  martyrdom  is  ended,"  she 
said,  clinging  to  his  neck,  and  weeping  from  happiness. 

"  Yes,  and  thank  God  that  it  is  ended  through  no 
deed  of  mine,  Elena  ;  if  my  hand  had  given  you  your 
freedom,  I  could  not  now  hold  yon  in  my  arms  and 
look  in  your  dear  face  with  the  same  happy  heart." 

"  Pray  do  not  speak  of  this  in  the  firet  moment  of 
our  happiness.  Let  ub  forget  the  sad  and  bitter  past, 
and  live  only  in  this  sweet  present." 

"  And  in  a  sweeter  and  better  future,  my  Elena,"  he 
said,  tenderly,  as  he  led  her  to  a  sofa  and  seated  him- 
self beside  her.  "  This  is  a  proud  and  blissful  moment 
for  me,  when  I  can  hold  your  dear  hand,  and  know 
that  it  is  mine  forever." 


\ 


! 


LAST. 

lamo,  bi!canf?o  Ciistcllara 
)no  or  the  other  hud  to 
been  the  victim  or  the 
refore  the  hunchback's 
lie  right  moment,  for  he 
nd  restored  her  freedom 

I  retnrn  to  Florence,  she 
n  that  we  have  already 
the  arrival  of  Valdimer. 
a  cry  of  delight,  met  his 
sped  to  his  heart  for  the 
ears  of  waiting, 
nartyrdom  is  ended,"  she 
veeping  from  happiness. 

it  is  ended  through  no 
iiid  had  given  you  your 
d  you  in  my  arms  and 
!  same  happy  heart." 

in  the  firet  moment  of 
the  sad  and  bitter  past, 
lent." 
sr  future,  my  Elena,"  he 

a  sofa  and  seated  him- 
>ud  and  blissful  moment 
r  dear  hand,  and  know 


\ 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 

"And  you  are  contented,  Valdimer;  you  would 
have  nothing  changed  ? »  she  asked,  turning  her  clear, 
happy  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"  I  am  perfectly  happy ;  everything  now  is  as  I 
would  have  it.  I  have  nothing  more  to  desire  in  this 
world,"  he  replied,  avoiding  her  steady  look,  while 
a  faint  tinge  of  red  stole  over  his  face,  a  scarcely  per- 
ceptible flush  of  shame,  for  at  that  moment  he  seemed 
to  see  a  pair  of  innocent,  childish  blue  eyes  looking 
into  the  very  depths  of  his  guilty  soul,  and,  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  recoiled  from  the  searching  gaze  as  though 
a  tender  wound  had  been  touched  by  a  rough  hand. 

The  Duchess  noticed  the  slight  change  instantly, 
and,  in  spite  of  her  happiness,  a  chill  seemed  to  pass 
over  her,  just  the  faintest  tremor,  just  a  breath  of  sus- 
picion, which  she  could  not  quite  banish,  though  she 
said  sweetly  and  gently:  "I  have  been  so  wicked, 
Valdimer,  that  I  scarcely  deserve  this  happiness.  I 
have  doubted  everything,  even  your  love  at  times. 
Yes,  I  have  been  unjust  enough  to  think  that  you  loved 

another." 
«  Now  you  are  jesting,  my  Elena ;  who  could  I  lovo 

beside  yon  ? " 

«  Ah !  I  know  not ;  some  one  younger  and  fairer 

than  I  am." 
"There  is  no  one  living  fairer,  more  beautiful,  than 

you." 

18* 


?4,1 


99S 


HAPPr  AT  LAST. 


«  Bnt  thorc  are  many  younger,  and  youth  haa  its  own 

chann." 

"  You  are  young,  you  are  all  that  is  perfect.  1  pray 
you  to  Bay  no  more  of  your  ago.  Every  year  that  haa 
brought  your  beauty  to  such  perfection  has  been  a 
gift  from  Heaven."  >      ,.      i^ 

"  Ah !  that  is  sweet  and  kind,  Valdiraor ;  but  still  I 
wish  I  were  younger  for  yo\ir  sake." 

'<  1  like  not  a  flower  in  the  bud,  neither  do  I  prefer 
half-ripe  fruit.  If  I  worship  you,  and  adore  you  as 
you  are,  why  wish  to  take  away  from  the  years  that 
have  made  yon  perfect  in  my  eyes  1 " 

"And  you  will  never  grow  weary  of  my  love?" 
«  Never,  Elena  1     Can  one  grow  weary  of  Heaven  1 " 
«  Valdimer,  I  trust  you  now,  though  I  will  confess 
that  not  long  since  I  thought  your  love  wavered ;  I 
feared  another  had  won  your  heart  from  me." 
«  Elena,  how  could  you  wrong  me  so  ? " 
"Have  I  wronged  you,  Valdimer?   Now,  look  down 
deep  into  your  heart  of  hearts,  and  tell  me  truly  if  you 
find  any  other  image  there  than  mine." 

«  How  absurd,  sweet  love.  Why,  for  four  years  your 
face  has  been  impressed  upon  every  fold  of  my  heart ; 
every  fibre  of  my  being  has  thrilled  and  responded  but 
to  your  name." 

"Pardon  me,  dearest,  if  I  seem  to  question  yon 
closely,  bnt  now  I  wish  my  heart  to  be  at  rest,  for 


•w 


ST. 

and  youtli  has  its  own 

at  is  perfect.    1  pray 

Every  year  that  has 

)erfoction  has  been  a 

Valdiraor ;  but  still  I 

J,  neither  do  I  prefer 
on,  and  adore  you  as 
f  from  tlio  years  that 
es?" 

ary  of  my  love  ? " 
iw  weary  of  Heaven  1 
though  I  will  confess 
your  love  wavered ;  I 
art  from  me." 
;  me  so  ?  " 

mer?   Now,  look  down 
md  tell  me  truly  if  you 
mine." 

Thy,  for  four  years  your 
very  fold  of  my  heart ; 
lied  and  responded  but 

seem  to  question  yon 
leart  to  be  at  rest,  for 


IIAPPr  AT  LAST 


S90 


when  I  am  your  wife,  I  would  not  have  a  cloud  come 
between  us,  not  the  faintest  breath  of  a  suspicion. 
You  are  sure,  quite  sure,  that  since  you  have  professed 
to  love  mo  that  you  have  never  breathed  the  same 

vows  to  another?" 

Valdimer  looked  away  while  he  pressed  her  white 
hand  f(MKlly  to  his  lips,  and  said,  with  some  gravity  : 
«My  Elena,  you  are  a  woman  of  the  world,  yoa 
nnderstand  human  nature,  you  know  the  folly  a  man 
may  be  guilty  of  at  times,  how  he  may  mistake  his 
hnagination  for  his  feelings,  his  fancies  for  his  affec- 
tions.   I  will  be  truthful  with  you,  though  it  is  a  sort 
of  sacrilege  to  oblige  me  to  make  odious  comparisons 
between  my  love  for    you  and  my  professions  for 
others.    Is  it  not  enough  for  you  to  know  that  I  adore 
and  worship  you,  that  you  are  far  above  any  other  m 
my  estimation,  that  you  are  the  chosen  mistress  of  my 
destinv,  ray  Elena,  my  wife." 

«  That  is  enough,  Valdimer.  I  understand  you,  and 
I  trust  you.  My  love  for  you  is  a  deep-rooted  feeling, 
not  a  light  or  idle  fancy.  God  knows  how  I  have 
suffered,  how  I  have  struggled  to  crush  and  kill  it  in 
times  past,  when  it  seemed  unworthy  of  me  to  cherish 
such  a  passion.  It  has  been  my  one  rock  to  cling  to 
amid  the  mad  waves  of  despair  and  anguish,  hate  and 
revenge,  that  have  so  often  threatened  to  engulf  me 
It  has  saved  me  from  fearful  extremes,  it  has  kept  one 


It  l''  I 


'V  ! 


ti; 


II 


800 


JIAPPr  AT  LAST. 


tondor  Rpnt  in  my  lioart,  ono  spark  of  woinnnly  ceiitlo- 
iiess  alivo.  It  liiw  boon  my  only  h^po,  my  only  salvti- 
tioa  for  so  lon^?,  tliat  wore  I  to  hwo  it,  I  should  bo 
utterly  ruined  and  Bhipwrecked." 

"  You  will  never  lose  my  love.  Why  dwell  on  such 
a  theujor'  returned  the  Count,  deeply  moved,  "espe- 
cially at  the  moment  when  our  happiness  is  about  to 
be.ponsiunmated.  Elena,  I  decided  when  I  came  hero 
not  to  leave  you  until  you  named  the  day  that  is  lo 
make  you  my  wife." 

"  Ah  !  Valdimer,  let  U9  not  hasten  the  time,  we  are 
Imppy  enough  as  we  are." 

"  Why  should  wo  wait,  Elena  ?  You  have  done  all 
that  propriety  demanda  of  you,  thou  why  not  become 
mine  at  once  ? " 

The  DuchesB  did  not  reply  immediately,  but  seemed 
to  be  thinking  deeply,  and  a  shade  of  sadness  passed 
over  her  face  that  had  been  so  unclouded  but  a  mo- 
ment before,  then  she  looked  up  at  Valdimer,  who  sat 
with  his  eyes  bent  upon  her,  waiting  for  her  answer, 
and  said,  with  some  hesitation  :  "  I  cannot  decide  now, 
Valdimer.  I  prefer  to  wait  a  little.  I  have  an  impres- 
sion, a  sudden  conviction,  that  I  ought  to  wait." 

"  Well,  then,  dearest,  I  will  not  urge  you  against 
your  impressions,  though  you  make  me  unhappy  by 
refusing  the  fondest  wish  of  my  heart ;  liowever,  I  can 
wait  a  little  longer,  as  1  have  waited  so  long,  but  I 


KHMMtn 


g.SJ^tf^aaa&fcSefe**--'^ 


isr. 

rk  of  womftnly  centlo- 
f  liDpo,  iiiy  only  salva- 
to  1(M0  it,  1  i<h()ul(l  1)0 

.  Why  dwell  on  such 
deeply  moved,  "ospo- 
happiiiess  is  about  to 
ded  when  I  (tamo  hero 
lied  the  day  that  is  lo 

lasten  tho  time,  we  are 

\  ?   You  have  done  all 
thou  why  not  become 

[mediately,  but  seemed 
lado  of  sadness  passed 
0  unclouded  but  a  mo- 
)  at  Valdimer,  who  sat 
ivaiting  for  her  answer, 
"  I  cannot  decide  now, 
ttle.   I  have  an  imprea- 

ought  to  wait." 

not  urge  you  against 
make  me  unhappy  by 

heart ;  liowever,  I  can 

waited  so  long,  but  I 


IIAPPT  AT  LAST. 


Mt 


bog  that  you  will  not  delay  until  my  flmall  stock  of 
piitionci!  irt  exIiaiiBtcd." 

"(live  mo  a  littlo  time  to  decide,  dear  Valdimer.  and 
all  shall  bo  as  you  wish,"  she  returned,  with  a  tender 
glance  and  a  gentle  preswuro  of  tho  hand. 

"  And  in  the  meantime  shall  wo  hide  ourselves  from 

the  world  1 " 

"  No,  indeed.  I  shall  go  this  very  afternoon  w'th 
you  to  drive  in  the  Cascino.  Why,  I  am  just  longing 
for  the  dear  place  once  more.  For  six  months  I  have 
been  buried,  and  now  I  want  to  see  tho  gay  world 
again.  Oh !  Valdimer,  how  proud  and  happy  I  shall 
be  to  appear  in  public  with  you  as  my  own,  my  very 
own  ! "  cried  tho  Duchess  with  childish  gayety. 

"  Ajid  1  shall  be  tho  envy  of  all  Florence  !  "  returned 
Nordiskoff.    "  At  what  hour  will  you  be  ready  \ " 

'*  At  five  o'clock ;  and  after  our  drive  we  will  have  a 
delightful  tete-drtke  dinner  in  my  own  boudoir,  and  no 
one  shall  come  to  disturb  us.  Will  not  that  bo  charm- 
ing?" 

«  Perfectly,  a  beginning  of  our  paradise  on  earth, 
replied  Valdimer.  "  But  I  must  go,  now,  and  allow 
you  to  see  your  other  friends,  who,  I  know,  arc  wait- 
ing anxiously  for  you.  At  five  o'clock  I  will  be  with 
you,  and  until  that  hour  I  shall  only  half  live."  Then 
he  embraced  her  fondly  and  went  away,  feeling  that 
matters  were  entirely  settled  between  them,  and  that 


302 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


4     I 


he  ought  to  be,  as  he  had  declared  he  was,  the  happiest 
of  mortals— instead  of  which  he  was  most  uncomfort- 
able. 

On  one  thing  he  had  decided,  and  that  was  his  mar- 
riage with  the  Duchess ;  but  he  had  not  made  up  his 
mind  to  abandon  his  pursuit  of  the  artist's  daughter. 
The  more  he  thought  of  sucli  a  termination   to  his 
secret  and  romantic  love  affair  with  the  beautiful  girl, 
the  more  impossible  it  seemed  to  relinquish  her,  and 
the  more  strongly  his  nngoverned  heart  craved  for  her. 
"I  love  her,  I  am  sure  I  love  her!"  he  repeated 
over  and  over,  "  and  God  knows  I  would  not  harm  a 
hair  of  her  dear  head.     I  would  not  bring  one  tear  to 
her  heavenly  eyes.    If  she  were  my  equal,  if  she  were 
not  low-born,  all  the  world  might  go  to  the  winds  and 
she  should  be  my  wife ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  cannot  marry 
her  and  I  cannot  live  without  her.     But  why  should  I 
have  any  scruples  about  taking  her  away  from  her 
father.    He  is  a  terrible,  half-insane,  ferocious  brute, 
who  may  kill  her  in  a  tit  of  madness,  in  spite  of  his 
affection  for  her,  which,  after  all,  may  be  more  avarice 
than  love.     She  would  be  happier  with  me,  poor,  loving 
child.     I  will  be  tender  and  careful  of  her,  and  her 
life  will  be  as  cloudless  as  a  summer  day.    I  will  hide 
her  in  some  quiet,  pretty  spot,  and  surround  her  with 
every  comfort,  and  the  Duchess  will  never  be  any  the 
wiser ;  and  I  shall  not  esteem  and  love  my  wife  any 


AST. 

3d  he  was,  the  happiest 
!  was  most  uncorafort- 

and  that  was  his  mar- 
e  had  not  made  up  his 
E  the  artist's  daughter. 
L  a  termination  to  his 
with  the  beautiful  girl, 

to  relinquish  her,  and 
3d  heart  craved  for  her. 
)ve  her!"  he  repeated 
ivs  I  would  not  harm  a 
d  not  bring  one  tear  to 
e  my  equal,  if  she  were 
yht  go  to  the  winds  and 
,s  it  is,  I  cannot  marry 
ler.  But  why  should  I 
ng  her  away  from  her 
-insane,  ferocious  brute, 
madness,  in  spite  of  his 
ill,  may  be  more  avarice 
ier  with  me,  poor,  loving 

careful  of  her,  and  her 
immer  day.  I  will  hide 
,  and  surround  her  with 
iss  will  never  be  any  the 
a  and  love  my  wife  any 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


803 


the  less  for  the  affection  I  bestow  on  this  pretty  flower, 
this  puro,  fragrant,  white  lily. 

In  this  way,  with  this  false  reasoning,  Count  Valdi- 
mer  reconciled  his  conscience  with  his  conduct,  and 
thought  himself  an  honorable,  high-minded  man,  and 
most  fortunate  to  be  loved  so  devotedly  by  two  such 
adorable  women. 

After  Count  NordiskofE  left  the  Duchess,  she  paced 
the  room  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  all  the  happiness 
fading  out  of  her  face  as  though  she  had  suddenly  con- 
fronted  some  sorrow  of  the  past  that  would  not  be  ban- 
ished by  her  present  happiness. 

«  It  is  of  no  use,"  she  murmured  with  a  weary  sigh. 
"Just  as  I  think  I  am  at  peace  and  free  from  suffering 
some  old  pain  begins  to  gnaw  at  my  heart.    I  have  tried 
to  drive  away  all  memory  to-day,  tried  to  forget  that  I 
have  lived  before,  tried  to  be  happy  in  the  present,  and 
straightway  this  poor,  pale  ghost  of  a  vanished  joy  rises 
before  me,  looks  with  unflinching  eyes  into  mine,  and 
points  with  steady  flnger  to  the  grim  tyrant,  conscience, 
which  I  have  endeavored  to  put  under  my  feet.    But 
he  is  stronger  than  I  am,  and  rises  undaunted  and 
stands  before  me  firm  and  resolute,  my  tyrant,  always 
my  tyrant.    Why  did  I  lack  the  courage  to  tell  Valdi- 
mer  all  ?  His  mood  was  gentle,  his  eyes  kind ;  he  would 
have  pitied  and  forgiven  me,  and  my  tyrant  would  be 
content  to  leave  me  at  last  in  peace.    I  accused  and 


w 


p 


{ r» 

H 


|4      I 


304 


HAPP7  AT  LAST. 


questioned  and  suspected  the  man  1  love,  and  all  the 
while  kept  my  own  heart  closely  covered  from  him.  I 
said  there  must  not  be  a  shadow  between  us  on  this 
day,  and  yet  I  kept  this  dark  cloud  over  my  own  sonl. 
It  is  wrong,  all  wrong,  and  I  cannot  be  happy— I  must 

not  be  happy. 

«  Poor  Valdimer,  one  day  he  will  learn  all,  and  then 
ho  will  remember  how  I  concealed  my  suffering  from 
him,  f  rotn  all  the  world.  I  should  have  bared  my  soul 
to  him  to-day  ;  it  was  my  chance  and  I  let  it  pass.  1 
should  have  kept  nothing  back ;  even  that  letter,  I 
should  have  laid  before  him.  It  was  in  his  own  hand- 
writing, and  it  should  have  been  explained.  But  it  is 
too  late.  We  have  agreed  to  accept  each  other  as  we 
are,  and  now  there  can  be  no  further  opportunity  of 
niping  out  all  the  blurred,  imperfect  past." 

A  few  moments  later  Enrico  entered,  and  the 
Duchess  clothed  her  face  again  in  smiles  to  receive 
him,  for  he  must  not  find  her  sad  on  this  day  of  all 
othere ;  he  must  see  her  happy,  and  glad,  aye,  as  joyous 
and  light-hearted  as  she  had  been  when  they  were 
children  together. 

«  Why,  my  cousin,  you  look  radiant,"  cried  Enrico, 
as  she  came  to  meet  him;  "your  eyes  are  like  stare, 
and  your  face  one  wreath  of  smiles.  A  happy  heart 
must  beat  beneath  that  bewitching  robe  that  becomes 
you  80  charmingly." 


•^iiiirtifti 


JST. 

an  1  love,  and  all  the 
covered  from  him.  I 
V  between  us  on  this 
lid  over  my  own  sonl. 
not  be  happy— I  must 

vill  learn  all,  and  then 
led  my  suffering  from 
id  have  bared  my  soul 
je  and  I  let  it  pass.  1 
c ;  even  that  letter,  I 
;  was  in  his  own  hand- 
1  explained.  But  it  is 
ccept  each  other  as  we 
further  opportunity  of 
rfect  past." 

ico  entered,  and  the 
a  in  smiles  to  receive 
sad  on  this  day  of  all 
md  glad,  aye,  as  joyous 
been  when  they  were 

radiant,"  cried  Enrico, 
'our  eyes  are  like  stare, 
jmiles.  A  happy  heart 
ling  robe  that  becomes 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


305 


"I  am  happy,  very  happy.  It  is  so  delightful  to 
return  to  Florence,  and  to  my  friends  again." 

"  No  wonder,  Elena,  after  your  dreary  seclusion ; 
but  you  endured  it  like  a  heroine,  and  it  has  nt)t 
impaired  yo\n-  beauty,  but  rather  heightened  it.  You 
look  as  you  did  before  you  married  Castellara." 

"I  am  thankful  for  that,  and  I  might  add  that  I 
feel  as  I  did  before  my  sacrifice.  I  am  like  a  slave 
who  has  suddenly  lost  his  fetters,  and  scarcely  knows 
whether  to  walk  c»r  fly  for  lightness  of  heart." 

"  If  you*are  happy  at  last,  my  dear  cousin,  I  rejoice 
with  jou,  for  a  heavy  heart  is  a  wearisome  burden  to 
bear." 

"  It  is,  indeed ;  but  you  speak  as  though  you  had 
experienced  it ;  your  tones  are  very  dolorous,  and  now 
I  think  of  it,  your  handsome  face  is  just  a  little 
clouded.     Tell  me  now  what  has  happened  to  you." 

"  Nothing,  nothing  ever  happens  to  me ;  but  I  did 
not  come  here  to  talk  of  myself.  I  came  to  congrat- 
ulate you." 

"  Then  you  know,  Enrico  ? "  said  the  Duchess,  with 
a  blush  and  warm  smile. 

"  Yes,  I  met  Valdimer,  and  he  told  me  that  all  was 
settled,  excepting  the  day." 

"I  could  not  decide  just  at  once,  and  there  is  no 
hurry." 

"  I  should  agree  with  you  that  there  is  no  hurry.    I 


306 


IIAPPr  AT  LAST. 


i% 


m. 


::  P'' 


would  let  poor  Castellara  become  cold  in  hia  grave 
before  I  married  again." 

"  I  am  no  hypocrite,  cousin.  I  hated  him ;  then 
why  should  1  wait?"  ' 

"  In  spite  of  his  faults,  he  was  your  husband,  and  1 
should  ti-eat  his  memory  with  some  respect,  if  I  v^ere 

you."  "  '■'-"'  :-''M  '■"--  '■-;'  -'  ■' 

"Bah!  Enrico,  yon  are  my  evil  genius.  I  am 
happy,  and  you  come  like  an  ugly,  croaking  raven  to 
make  me  sad  again." 

"  You  mistake  me,  Elena,  as  you  always  do.  I  am 
sure  no  one  in  the  world  can  desire  your  welfare  more 
than  I  do.  I  am  Valdimer's  friend,  and  I  trust  you 
will  be  happy  together." 

«  Thank  you,  but  there  is  not  a  hearty  ring  of  assur- 
ance in  your  words.  Your  lips  say  you  wish  it,  but 
your  manner  says  yon  doubt  it.  Now,  Eurico,  1  would 
rather  you  killed  me  where  I  stand,  than  I  should 
marry  Valdimer  and  make  him  miserable." 

"  Why,  how  absurd  I  You  will  make  him  the  hap- 
piest of  men." 

"  Do  you  sincerely  think  so,  Enrico  1 " 
«  Yes,  dear  Elena,  I  do,  though  I  will  confess  that 
at  one  time  I  thought  he  was  interested  sliglitly  in 
another  direction.    But  that  is  over,  and  I  am  sure  he 
loves  you  truly  and  sincerely." 
"  You  are  sure  it  is  over  ? " 


g 
h 


.--jiiioanBani^-' 


AST. 

me  cold  in  hia  grave 

.    I  hated  him ;  then 

is  your  husband,  and  I 
ome  respect,  if  I  v^ere 

T  evil  genius.  I  am 
igly,  croaking  raven  to 

you  always  do.  I  am 
aire  your  welfare  more 
friend,  and  I  trust  you 

a  hearty  ring  of  assur- 

8  say  you  wish  it,  but 

Now,  Eurico,  1  would 

[  stand,  than  I  should 

miserable." 
srill  make  him  the  hap- 

Enrico?" 

ugh  I  will  confess  that 
8  interested  slightly  in 
}  over,  and  I  am  sure  he 


HAPPY  AT  LAST. 


307 


"  Quite  sure." 

"  Now,  tell  me,  Enrico,  but  this,  and  I  will  question 
you  no  more;  was  she  the  daughter  of  Hugo  the 
artist?" 

"  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  fancied  so ;  however,  it  was 
but  a  young  man's  folly,  and  it  is  over." 

"  Enrico,  you  will  not  deceive  me,  you  are  sure  that 
it  is  over  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  I  am  that  he  loves  you.  If  I  were  not 
convinced  that  it  was  so,  I  should  not  be  his  friend ; 
for  to  toll  you  the  truth,  and  you  will  keep  my  secret, 
cousin,  I  have  thought  too  much  of  the  lovely  girl 
myself?" 

"Ah  I  since  the  night  you  rescued  her?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  never  seen  her  since,  save  in 
church,  Elena ;  her  beauty  is  something  divine,  and  I 
believe  she  is  as  pure  and  innocent  as  she  is  lovely." 

"  Well,  Enrico,  what  does  it  matter  whether  she  be 
good  or  evil  ?  You  do  not  want  her,  you  cannot  make 
her  your  wife,  and  yon  are  too  noble  to  injure  the 
girl." 

"  If  I  could  win  her  love,  I  would  marry  her,  Elena," 
returned  Enrico  seriously. 

The  Duchess  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  Why, 
the  beauty  of  this  hunchback's  daughter  seems  to  have 
turned  your  head  I  She  is  dangerous ;  she  should  be 
shut  up  in  a  convent." 


308 


JIAPPT  AT  LAST. 


«0n  the  contrary,  bIic  should  he  in  a  different  posi- 
tion ;  she  should  have  a  home  and  husband  worthy  of 
her  grace  and  beauty." 

«  And  do  you  intend  to  elevate  her  to  such  a  lofty 

station  ? " 

"Elena,  I  am  serious,  I  never  was  more  so  in  my 
life.  1  love  that  girl,  and  you  know  what  love  means 
with  me;  if  I  could  get  her  away  froin  her  father  I 
would  educate  her  and  then  marry  her." 

«  Without  knowing  what  she  sprung  from,  who  her 
mother  was,  or  whether  she  is  his  child  or  not  % " 
«  As  she  is  I  love  her." 

«Oh  Enrico,  is  it  possible  that  you  have  lost  yonr 
head  aJ  well  as  your  heart  ?  I  really  can't  believe  it ; 
but  I  must  leave  you  now  to  dress,  for  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment to  drive  with  Valdimer  at  five.  But  let  me 
advise  you  to  see  a  doctor,  to  be  bled,  and  to  have  a 
cold  compress  bound  about  your  temples."  And  with 
a  gay  laugh  the  Duchess  kissed  her  hand  to  him  and 
went  away. 


■■^ 


LAST. 

Id  be  in  a  different  posi- 
3  and  husband  worthy  of 

3vate  her  to  such  a  lofty 

(ver  was  more  so  in  my 
n  know  what  love  means 
r  away  from  her  father  I 
narry  her." 

she  sprung  from,  who  her 
B  his  child  or  not  ?  " 

3  that  you  have  lost  yonr 
I  really  can't  believe  it ; 
)  dress,  for  I  have  an  ap- 
dimer  at  five.  But  let  me 
to  be  bled,  and  to  have  a 
your  temples."  And  with 
jsed  her  hand  to  him  and 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR 


809 


CHAPTER  XX. 


HUGO'S   DESPAIR. 


IN  the  day  of  the  tragedy  in  the  Cascine,  Hugo 
did  not  return  to  his  house  until  nightfall. 
Leaving  the  garden,  where  the  sunlight  shim- 
mered through  the  trees  on  the  dead  face  of  the  Duke 
of  Castellara,  he  rushed  away  for  miles  into  the  coun- 
try, flying  in  frenzied  liaste  from  a  phanton  that  seemed 
to  piii-sue  him.  Through  deserted  roads,  over  hills  and 
plains,  tlirongh  tangled  woods,  across  dank  meadows, 
oil  and  on  he  went,  while  the  heavens  seemed  blood- 
red  above  him,  and  the  earth  a  reeling,  shifting  leaden 
plain  that  scorched  his  feet  as  it  slipped  away  from 
under  his  hurrying  steps. 

Now  and  then  he  pressed  his  hand  to  his  forehead 
as  though  he  would  wipe  off  the  burning  mark  that 
I  seemed  imprinted  there  by  a  divine  finger,  while  he 
muttered  from  time  to  time,  "  Cain,  Cain."  How  the 
day  passed  he  never  knew,  but  at  night  he  found  him- 
self near  the  Church  of  San  Miniato,  near  the  spot 
where  he  had  passed  the  happiest  days  of  his  life,  the 
I  only  peaceful  days  he  had  ever  known. 

Going  near  his  little  cottage  he  found  it  inhabited. 


vT 


HUOffS  DESPAIR 

Some  peasants  had  sought  a  shelter  there,  a  goat 
browsed  whore  Nana  had  cropped  the  scanty  grass,  and 
a  black-eyed,  dark-browed  child  played  under  the 
cypress  tree,  whore  he  had  so  often  sat  with  the  fair- 
haired  Lisa.  The  trellis  had  fallen  to  ruin,  the  dead 
and  ragged  vines  fluttered  disconsolately  from  the 
broken  arches,  the  garden  was  overgrown  with  weeds, 
and  the  little  rivulet  was  choked  and  dried  up. 

With  a  groan  of  anguish,  he  turned  away  and  sought 
the  shelter  of  the  church ;  there  all  was  calm  and  holy. 
Keligious  quiet,  and  the  shadows  of  coming  night 
brooded  over  the  solemn  spot.    Sinking  on  his  knees 
at  one  of  the  altars,  he  tried  to  pray,  lifting  his  eyes  to 
the  face  of  the  dying  Christ;  but  instead  of  the  ex- 
pression of  divine  pity  mingled  with  its  human  agony, 
it  seemed  to  frown  on  him,  and  the  letters  burned  and 
glowed  over  the  halo  about  his  head,  until  they  seemed 
to  be  written  in  fire.  Slowly  he  spelled  them  out,  one  by 
one :   "  Thou  art  accursed/  the  bra  ui  of  Cain  is  ujpon 
theeP    With  a  cry  of  horror  he  started  up  and  fled  out 
into  the  gathering  twilight    Hurrying  down  the  hill 
with  his  hands  pressed  against  his  throbbing  temples, 
he  dared  not  look  to  the  right  nor  left,  for  thei-e,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  cypress,  he  expected  to  see  a  phan- 
tom arise  and  come  forth  to  meet  him.    It  was  there 
that  he  had  committed  his  first  sin,  there  that  he  had 
btolen  the  child  which  had  given  him  all  hia  happiness 


USPAIR. 

a  shelter  there,   a  goat 
pped  the  scanty  grass,  and 

child  played  niider  tlie 
80  often  sat  with  the  fair- 
[1  fallen  to  ruin,  the  dead 
disconsolately  from  the 
vas  overgrown  with  weeds, 
)ked  and  dried  up. 
he  turned  away  and  sought 
here  all  was  calm  and  holy. 
ihadows  of  coming  night 
)ot.    Sinking  on  his  knees 

to  pray,  lifting  his  eyes  to 
8t;  but  instead  of  the  ex- 
rled  with  its  human  agoiiy, 
and  the  letters  burned  and 
his  head,  until  they  seemed 
he  spelled  them  out,  one  by 
'  the  bra  id  of  Cain  is  njpon 
)r  he  started  up  and  fled  out 
it    Hnrrying  down  the  hill 
ainst  his  throbbing  temples, 
;ht  nor  left,  for  there,  under 
,  he  expected  to  see  a phanf 
,  to  meet  him.    It  was  there 
B  first  sin,  there  that  he  hadi 

given  hiro  all  his  happinessi 


HUaaS  DESPAIR. 


m. 


and  all  his  misery.  If  lie  had  not  listened  to  that 
temptation,  he  would  not  now  be  suffering  this  tor- 
ment of  reniorpp,  he  would  not  be  fleeing  from  his 
accusing  conscience,  a  murderer,  with  the  curse  of  his 
victim's  blood  upon  liis  soul. 

Going  straight  on,  his  head  bent  and  In's  eyes  cov- 
ered, ho  suddenly  came  face  to  face  with  a  priest,  who 
was  slowly  toiling  up  tlie  hill.  Starting  back  aft'righted, 
lie  was  about  to  rush  by  him,  when  a  voice  that  was 
not  unfamiliar  exclaimed,  "  As  I  live,  I  believe  this  is 
Hugo,  my  old  friend." 

The  huncliback  stopped  reluctantly,  and  with  heavy, 
blood-shot  eyes  slowly  scanned  the  face  before  him, 
while  he  said,  in  a  hollow  voice :  "  Your  speech  is  famil- 
iar, and  your  face  I  have  seen  before.  Surely  it  is 
father  llario;  though  more  than  sixteen  yeara  have 
passed  since  you  left  Florence,  yet  I  have  not  forgotten 
you." 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  it  is  sixteen  years  since  I 
climbed  this  hill  ? "  said  the  old  priest,  breathing  hard 
and  wiping  the  streaming  pei-spiration  from  his  fore- 
head. "If  it  were  not  that  I  had  grown  30  stout,  and 
feel  my  age  in  mounting  this  steep  ascent,  I  should  say 
that  I  was  scarcely  a  year  older,  for  the  time  has  passed 
happily  since  I  saw  you,  and  things  have  gone  well 
with  me  in  Rome,  where  I  have  been  ever  since  I  left 
our  good  city  of  Florence." 


312  HUGO'S  DESPAIR 

« 1  am  glad  to  hear  that  some  one  has  boon  fortn- 
natc  "  rctur.»od  tho  hunchl.ack  with  a  groan. 

"Whrit  does  this  meat.,  Master  Hugo,  that  you 
Bpeak  in  tho  same  dolorons  manner  as  you  did  .n  other 
days,  for,  unless  rnn.or  is  false,  you  too  have  f-P^-^» 
and  become  famous  in  your  profession  1  Why,  the 
news  of  your  success  has  reached  n>e  even  in  Home. 

»  Yes,  yes.  Father  Ilario,  it  is  true.  I  have  no  cause 
to  complain.  My  good  fortune  is  on  every  tongue.  1 
amnoh,nger  the  poor  despised  creature  that  I  wa.^ 
The  people  respect  me,  and  the  great  and  noble  seek 
,ny  humble  homo  to  offer  me  their  patronage  Wealth 
flows  in  upon  me;  but  withal,  J  am  wretched,  more 
wretched  than  any  living  thing." 

«'  Then,  as  I  ^oM  you  long  ago,  it  must  bo  your  own 
morbid,  unhappy  disposition  that  makes  you  so^  Pray 
to  God  to  change  your  heart  and  give  you  a  different 

nature."      ,.  .    .         i         t 

«Yon  bid  me  pray.    Ohl  Father,  it  is  useless.    I 

cannot.    God's  ear  is  closed  against  mo;  the^ J  a 

black  wall  of  guilt  between  the  compassionate  Saviou. 

and  me,  that  keeps  me  away  from  Him." 

« Then  go  to  your  confessor   and  unburden   your 

Boul  to  him,  and  he  will  show  you  the  way  to  obtain 

^^"Thavo  no  confessor.    I  never  have  confessed  to 
any  one." 


PAIR 

)tne  Olio  has  been  fortn- 

with  a  groan, 
laster  Hugo,  tlmt  yoii 
,nner  as  you  did  in  other 
,  you  too  have  prospered 

profession?  Wliy,  the 
led  nie  even  in  Iloine." 
18  trne.  I  have  no  cause 
ne  is  on  every  tongne.  I 
3cd  creature  that  I  wa#. 
ho  great  and  noble  seek 
their  patronage.  Wealth 
al,  I  am  wretched,  more 

ago,  it  must  bo  your  own 
that  makes  you  so.  Pray 
t  and  give  you  a  different, 

I  Father,  it  is  useless.  I 
d  against  me ;  there  is  a 
the  compassionate  Saviour 
r  from  Him." 

Bssor   and  unburden   your 
ow  you  the  way  to  obtain 

I  never  have  confessed  to 


HUOOfS  DESPAIR 


313 


"Is  it  possible,  my  son,  that  you  so  neglect  your 
duty  and  the  means  of  grace  offered  you  ?  No  wonder 
tliiit  you  aro  oppressed  with  your  load  of  sin.  Come 
to  mc  and  unburden  your  heart ;  lay  your  breast  bare 
before  me,  expose  your  most  secret  fault,  and  you  will 
find  peace  and  happiness." 

"  Oh  1  Father,  is  it  possible,  can  I  be  forgiven  ? " 
cried  Hugo,  seizing  this  hope  and  clinging  to  it  as 
cajj;erly  as  a  drowning  man  would  to  a  plank  thrown 
him  by  a  friendly  hand.  "  Can  the  sins  and  secrets  of 
years  bo  blotted  out  and  made  clear  in  God's  eyes? 
Can  crimes  bo  obliterated  and  pardoned  by  the  most 
High?  Can  the  suffering,  burdened  soul  Jind  peace 
and  happiness  at  last  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  son,  through  God's  mercy ;  but  finst  you 
must  come  to  his  confessional  with  a  sincere  and  peni- 
tent heart." 

"  I  am  ready.  Oh !  Father,  help  me  if  you  can. 
Wijon  shall  I  come  to  you  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  will.  I  shall  be  at  San  Marco 
during  mass,  every  day  for  the  future,  as  far  as  I  can 
tell,  for  I  am  not  to  return  to  Rome  again.  And  do 
not  fail  in  yonr  good  resolution.  May  God  help  yon, 
my  son,  to  come  to  Him  through  the  mediation  of  our 
Blessed  Saviour.  Now  go  your  way  and  leave  me  to 
myself,  for  having  just  returned  after  my  long  ab- 
sence, I  would  first  offer  up  my  thanks  to  the  Holy 
14 


814 


nUOaS  DKHPATR 


Virgin  nt  her  own  uUar  in  San  Mininto,  whoro  h1i« 
promised  nic  her  speciftl  protection." 

With  his  heart  somewhat  lif^'litonotl  of  its  heavy 
burden,  lingo  loft  Fatlior  lliirio  and  hurried  throii-,'h 
the  city  to  his  liomo,  where  ho  found  Lisa  and  Signorii 
Pia  awaiting  him  in  tlio  greatest  anxiety.  Wlien  lio 
crossed  the  threshold  it  seemed  m  thr)ugh  ho  had  hccii 
gone  for  months,  and  when  the  girl  tiirew  her  arins 
aromid  his  nock  and  kissed  him  fondly  in  l>er  joy  iit 
his  return,  he  shuddered  and  put  her  away,  fearinj; 
lest  his  touch  might  contaminate  and  stain  her  pure 
soul. 

"Are  you  ill, papa  ? "  she  said  anxiously  ;  "  yon  look 
80  pale  and  distressed." 

"  No,  my  child,  I  am  not  ill ;  I  am  only  weary,  aiiti 
I  will  seek  quiet  and  rest  in  my  own  room." 

"But  you  will  take  some  supper,  surely,  Signore?" 
eaid  Signora  Pia, "  for  after  this  long  day's  absence 
you  must  he  hungry  as  well  as  tired." 

"I  am  not  hungry.  I  have  eaten,"  returned  tlio 
hunchback,  avoiding  Lisa's  questioning,  anxious  lool< 
as  he  hastened  to  his  room. 

The  next  day,  as  Father  Ilario  had  feared  he  might 
do,  he  wavered  in  his  good  intention,  and  was  in  a  more 
miserable  condition  than  before.  There  was  only  one 
thing  that  kept  him  back  from  confessing  all  to  the 
good  priest,  and  that  was  the  fear  of  having  to  resign 


ISPAfR 

8an  Miniato,  where  who 
action." 

;  liglitoiiotl  of  its  honvv 
irio  uiid  Imrrieil  throii^'h 
a  foiiml  Lisrt  and  Sii^nuru 
ato8t  ftuxioty.  Wlieu  he 
3(1  m  th'Migli  ho  had  been 
the  gh'l  tlu-ow  her  arms 
him  fondly  in  her  joy  nt 
id  pnt  her  away,  feariiii,' 
inate  and  stain  her  pure 

aid  anxiously  ;  "  yon  look 

ill  ;  I  am  only  weary,  ami 

my  own  room." 

supper,  surely,  Signore?" 

ir  this  long  day's  absence 

as  tired." 

ave  eaten,"  returned  the 

questioning,  anxious  look 

lario  had  foarod  he  might 
itention,  and  was  in  a  more 
fore.  There  was  only  one 
Tom  confessing  all  to  the 
e  fear  of  having  to  resign 


mroaS  DESPAIR. 


SI  5 


the  ff'.rl  he  worRhii>ped.  When  ho  looked  upon  her 
lovely  fnco,  when  he  felt  the  soft,  tender  touch  of  her 
hand,  when  he  heard  her  sweet  voice  say,  «  papa,"  his 
rcHoIve  vanished,  and  the  burden  prcHsing  so  heavily 
ui)nn  his  soul  was  light  in  comparison  with  what  it 
would  be  if  ho  were  compelled  to  give  her  up. 

He  did  not  fear  confopsing  to  Father  Ilario  that  ho 
li!i<l  stolen  the  child,  ho  did  not  oven  fear  to  reveal  the 
BO(!ret  of  the  dreadful  deed  he  had  committed  in  the 
gfirdcn  of  the  Carfcino,  none  of  his  sins  seemed  groat 
enough  to  deter  him  from  confession  ;  but  the  thought 
that  ho,  by  acknowledging  the  child  was  not  his  own, 
might  have  to  give  her  up  to  her  rightful  parents,  who, 
he  believed,  could  bo  discovered,  if  they  were  sought 
f(jr,  maddened  and  ^tormented  him  more  than  tho 
memory  of  liis  crime. 

At  times  he  tried  to  make  a  compromise  with  his 
own  conscience,  resolving  that  ho  would  go  to  Father 
Ilario  and  confess  part  of  his  sin,  keeping  back  that 
which  related  to  tho  child  ;  but  then  his  reason  told 
him  that  God  would  not  accept  such  a  half  sacrifice, 
that  his  penitence  wonld  not  be  sincere  and  acceptable 
if  his  avowal  was  not  entire  and  freely  given. 

At  last,  as  day  after  day  passed  away  in  this  sinful 
indecision,  he  became  somewhat  accustomed  to  the 
burden  of  his  crime,  and  in  a  manner  reconciled  to 
his  situation.    Now  that  his  enemy  was  removed  by 


310 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR. 


/" 


death,  and  there  was  no  further  fear  for  Lisa's  safety, 
he  relaxed  his  vigilance  and  allowed  the  poor  girl  some 
liberty,  permitting  her  to  go  out  often  with  Signora 
Pia,  not  only  to  the  churches,  but  to  the  gardens, 
where  Valdimer  soon  discovered  her  and  renewed  his 
intercourse,  which  had  been  interrupted  by  her  close 
imprisonment.  He  had  found  means  of  conveying 
notes  to  her,  and  even  of  exchanging  a  few  words  with 
her  in  the  churches,  while  Signora  Pia  was  intently 
engaged  at  her  devc>tions  ;  and  had  also  met  her  many 
times  in  her  father's  studio,  when  the  wretched  man, 
driven  by  his  uneasy  conscience,  was  compelled  to 
rush  out  and  Avander  about  the  city  or  country  to  find 
distraction  from  his  own  thoughts. 

These  were  happy  days  to  Lis^ — the  color  returned 
once  more  to  her  cheeks,  the  light  to  her  eyes,  and  the 
ready  smiles  to  her  lips ;  and  her  father,  seeing  her 
contentment,  thought  it  was  because  of  her  freedom 
from  Castellara's  persecution,  and  the  renewed  confi- 
dence and  sympathy  between  them.  And  as  the  weeks 
passed  on  and  his  burden  of  crime  became  endurable, 
because  of  his  familiarity  with  it,  he  began  to  regret 
his  partial  confession  to  Father  Ilario,  and  even  feared 
that  he  might  possibly  meet  him  in  some  of  his  wan- 
derings about  the  city.  Then  the  old  idea  of  leaving 
Florence  and  hiding  himself  somewhere  took  posses- 
sion of  hira,  and  ho  worked  with  a  feverish  haste  on 


ESPAIR. 

ther  fuar  for  Lisa's  safety, 
illowed  the  poor  girl  some 
•o  out  often  with  Sigiiora 
hes,  but  to  the  gardens, 
ered  her  and  renewed  his 

interrupted  by  her  close 
md  means  of  conveying 
hanging  a  few  words  with 
Signora  Pia  was  intently 
lid  had  also  met  her  many 

when  the  wretched  man, 
uience,  was  compelled   to 
the  city  or  country  to  find 
ughts. 
)  Lis^ — the  color  returned 

light  to  her  eyes,  and  the 
nd  her  father,  seeing  her 

because  of  her  freedom 
n,  and  the  renewed  confi- 

them.  And  as  the  weeks 
■  crime  became  endurable, 
ith  it,  he  began  to  regret 
ler  Ilario,  and  even  feared 

him  in  some  of  his  wan- 
5n  the  old  idea  of  leaving 
f  somewhere  took  posses- 

with  a  feverish  haste  on 


•i 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR. 


317 


tlie  statue  of  Hebe,  which  was  fast  approaching  com- 
pletion ;  for  he  resolved  that  as  soon  as  it  was  finished, 
and  ho  was  paid  for  it,  to  take  Lisa  with  him  and  go 
as  far  away  as  possible  from  all  who  had  ever  known 
him— from  the  place  where  ho  had  sinned  and  suffered 
—to  some  quiet  r"t:oal,  where,  with  his  idolized  child, 
he  miglit  forget  the  past  in  a  new  and  happier  life. 

The  statue  of  Nemesis  was  still  unfinislied,  for  the 
Duchess  of  Castellara  had  been  absent  from  the  city 
for  six  months,  and  Hugo  did  not  know  when  she 
woidd  return  ;  but  he  had  resolved  not  to  remain  one 
day  in  Florence  after  Count  NordiskofE  had  accepted 
and  paid  him  the  price  agreed  upon  for  the  Hebe,  even 
though  the  order  from  the  Duchess  should  never  be 
completed. 

One  morning,  after  several  days  of  almost  incessant 
toil,  Hugo  put  the  finishing  touches  to  the  exquisite 
statue,  that  stood  a  marvel  of  loveliness  behind  the 
crimson  curtain  in  one  corner  of  his  studio.  He  had 
cut  the  stone  himself,  for  he  would  not  allow  any  other 
hand  than  his  own  to  copy  his  conception  from  clay  to 
marble,  believing  that  each  stroke  should  be  made  by 
the  hand  of  the  master  that  conceived  the  whole. 

He  was  very  weary  and  oppressed  by  anxiety,  in 
spite  of  his  joy,  at  the  completion  of  his  work,  and 
when  he  released  Lisa  from  her  last  sitting,  he  re- 
marked that  he  should  go  into  the  country  for  a  long 


S18 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR. 


walk,  which  would  refresh  and  invigorate  hira.    But, 
instead  of  going  out  as  he  thought  to  do  at  once,  lio 
eat  down  before  the  statue,  and  began  to  study  it  criti- 
cally, and  it  seemed  to  hiin,  as  he  looked  at  it,  that  it 
took  life  and  moved,  and  breathed.    It  was  Lisa,  her 
lovely  form,  hor  exquisite  face    changed*  into    tlic 
radiant  goddess  of  youth.     Her  uplifted  eyes,  her 
smiling  mouth,  her  white  arms  holding  aloft  the  cup 
filled  with  divine  nectar;  the  lithe,  graceful  limbs 
with  their  clinging,  delicate  drapery,  the  feet  that 
seemed  to  spurn  the  clouds  beneath  them,  could  not 
all  be  cold,  inflexible  marble,  the  work  of  his  hand, 
the  conception   of  his  throbbing,  aching  brain,  but 
rather  an  emanation  from  an  innnortal  power  con- 
cealed within  his  liideous  form.    While  he  looked  at  it, 
it  seemed  to  move  and  float  toward  Heaven,  the  white 
arms  waved  him  a  farewell,  the  eyes  were  turned 
toward  him  in  a  mute  adieu,  the  lips  murmured  in- 
audible words  of  parting ;  the  face  grew  fixed  and 
stony,  the  limbs  immobile,  and,  instead  of  Hebe,  he 
saw  before  him  the  rigid,  dead  form  of  his  child,  his 
Lisa.    A  heavy  stupor  seemed  to  settle  upon  him  ;  his 
senses  were  benumbed   and  dull,    his  eyes    closed, 
his  weary  head  fell  forward  on  his   breast,  and   he 
slept  from    exhaustion,  quietly  and  deeply,  sitting 
before  the  statue  that  he  had  just  completed. 
It  was  some  time  before  he  awoke,  and  then  he  was 


''W. 


aSPAIB. 

ad  invigorate  hira.  But, 
bought  to  do  at  once,  ho 
id  began  to  study  it  criti- 
is  lie  looked  at  it,  that  it 
athed.  It  was  Lisa,  her 
face    changed*  into    tlic 

Her  uplifted  eyes,  her 
ns  holding  aloft  the  cup 
he  lithe,  graceful  limbs 
3  drapery,  the  feet  that 

beneath  them,  could  not 
e,  the  work  of  his  hand, 
bbing,  aching  brain,  but 
an  innnortal  power  cou- 
n.    While  he  looked  at  it, 
oward  Heaven,  the  white 
11,  the  eyes  were  turned 
Bu,  the  lips  murmured  in- 
the  face  grew  fixed  and 
and,  instead  of  Hebe,  he 
Bad  form  of  his  child,  his 
ed  to  settle  upon  him  ;  his 
d  dull,    his  eyes    closed, 
d  on  his   breast,  and   he 
lietly  and  deeply,  sitting 
i  just  completed. 
be  awoke,  and  then  he  was 


MU0Q8  DESPAIR. 

conscious  that  he  was  no  longer  alone,  for  two  persons 
on  the  other  side  of  the  heavy  curtain  were  engaged  in 
a  low,  earnest  conversation. 

Holding  his  breath,  and  pressing  his  hand  tightly 
to  his  throbbing  heart,  he  listened,  and  recognized  his 
daughter's  voice,  and  the  words  she  uttered  seemed 
like  liquid  fire  poured  upon  his  brain. 

"  Ah,  Valdimer,"  she  said,  «  you  know  I  love  you 
better  than  any  one  on  earth,  better  than  my  father, 
yes,  a  thousand  times  better,  for  I  can  leave  him  for 
you.  Think  what  my  love  must  be,  when  I  can  forget 
all  his  patient  affection,  all  his  life-long  devotion  and 
tendernefls,to  go  with  you,  who  are  little  better  than  a 
stronger  to  me,  whom  I  have  not  tried  and  tested  as  I 
liave°him ;  then,  I  entreat  you,  not  to  say  that  I  love 
him  better  than  you,  for  am  I  not  now  about  to  prove 
which  is  dearest  to  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  sweet  darling,  you  are,  and  this  is  the  only 
way  you  can  conviu.  i  me  of  your  love,"  returned  Val- 
dimer  Nordiskoff  in  soft,  insinuating  tones  that  sounded 
like  the  howling  of  fiends  to  the  tortured  ears  of  the 
wretched  man,  who  writhed  with  the  agony  ho  was 
trying  to  control.  "  And  you  must  be  brave,  my  trea- 
sure, for  all  depends  upon  your  courage.  Now  listen 
carefully  to  the  directions  I  am  about  to  give  you. 
To-morrow  night,  as  soon  as  your  father  retires,  you 
must  unfasten  the  locks  softly,  and  slip  down  the  stairs, 


820 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR. 


.  swiftly  and  silently,  to  tho  outer  door,  which  you  will 
find  open.  At  the  corner  of  the  street  you  will  see  a 
carriage,  with  a  driver  apparently  fast  asleep,  which 
you  will  enter  without  a  word,  then  you  will  be 
swiftly  driven  away  to  the  j)07'ta  di  San  Gallo.  There 
I  will  join  you,  and  before  morning  wo  will  be  far 
from  Florence,  and  beyond  pursuit." 

"  And  where  shall  wo  find  the  priest  to  marry  us  %  " 
asked  Lisa  in  sweet,  eager  tones. 

"  In  the  first  town  we  stop.  at.  I  have  arranged  it  all, 
80  do  not  worry  your  pretty  head  about  that." 

"  And  my  father,  my  poor  fathei',  how  unhappy  he 
will  be  !  Oh  I  Valdimer,  would  it  not  be  better  to  tell 
him  all  ?  I  am  sure  if  he  knew  my  happiness  depended 
upon  our  union  he  would  not  refuse  his  sanction." 

"  Hush !  my  child,  you  do  not  know  what  you  are 
Baying ;  I  know  your  father  better  than  you  do,  his  love 
for  you  is  a  selfish  affection ;  he  will  not  give  you  to 
any  one  willingly,  and  the  first  intimation  that  you 
care  for  me,  would  be  followed  by  your  close  impris- 
onment, and  I  should  never  see  you  again  ;  so  unless 
you  wish  to  be  separated  from  me  forever,  conceal  our 
love  from  him  \vith  the  greatest  care." 

"  All !  you  know  I  cannot  be  separated  from  you, 
yet  I  hesitate  to  make  my  father  suffer,  as  I  know 
be  will  when  I  am  gone,  and  he  has  nothing  left  to 
love." 


TAIB.  ' 

:er  door,  v.hich  you  will 
he  street  you  will  see  a 
Biitly  fast  asleep,  which 
Drd,  then  you  will  be 
ta  di  San  Gallo.  There 
loruiiig  we  will  be  far 
rsuit." 
lie  priest  to  marry  us  ?  " 

!S. 

.  I  have  arranged  it  all, 
ad  about  that." 
Lather,  how  unhappy  ho 
d  it  not  be  better  to  tell 
my  happiness  depended 
of  use  his  sanction." 
lot  know  what  you  are 
ter  than  you  do,  his  love 
lie  will  not  give  you  to 
ret  intimation  that  you 
i  by  your  close  irapris- 
e  yon  again  ;  so  unless 
me  forever,  conceal  our 
t  care." 

ie  separated  from  you, 
ither  suffer,  as  I  know 
he  has  nothing  left  to 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR. 


321 


"  He  will  have  what  he  loves  even  better  than  you, 
he  will  have  ten  thousand  scudV^ 

"  Oh  1  Valdimer,  do  not  say  that  he  is  mercenary, 
that  any  amount  of  money  will  console  him  for  my 
loss,  for  I  know  that  he  loves  me  better  than  wealth, 
better  than  his  art,  better  than  anything  on  earth." 

"  It  may  be,  dearest,  but  I  doubt  it.  However,  it 
does  not  matter  about  his  love,  you  have  chosen  mo, 
have  you  not?  You  love  me  better  than  your  father, 
is  it  not  so  ?  and  you  will  leave  him  to  go  with  me  ? " 

«  Ah  !  yes,  dear  Valdimer,  I  love  you  beyond  any- 
one, and  I  will  go  with  you,  because  I  cannot  live 
without  you." 

"  That  is  enough,  my  darling.  I  am  too  happy,  and 
may  God  forget  me,  if  I  ever  cause  you  sorrow." 

"  There  can  be  no  sorrow  with  you.  I  shall  always 
be  happy  in  your  love.  Still,  I  must  return  soon  to 
my  poor  father,  for  he  will  be  so  desolate  \vithout  me." 

"  In  spite  of  your  declaration  that  you  love  me  best, 
you  still  desire  to  return  to  him  ?  " 

«  But  you  promised  me  that  our  parting  should  be 
but  for  a  little  while ;  that  I  should  return  to  him  soon, 
or  that  ho  should  come  to  me ;  and  you  are  bo  good 
that  you  will  keep  your  promise." 

"  Then  you  cannot  give  him  up  entirely  ? " 

«  Ah  1  Valdimer,  why  should  1 1 " 

"  Do  you  think  that  when  you  belong  to  me,  you 
14* 


822 


HUGO'S  DESPAIR. 


■will  wish  to  retnni  to  him  and  be  his  model  ?    Yon 
must  understand,  Lisa,  that  such  a  thing  is  impossible." 

"  But  I  can  see  him,  I  can  love  him.  Oh  I  Valdi- 
mer,  ho  is  my  father." 

"I  Bometiiues  doubt  that.  Have  you  over  thought 
of  such  a  possibility  as  his  not  being  your  father? " 

«  Never,  Valdiraer.  As  far  back  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, I  have  had  no  one  but  him." 

"  It  seems  impossible  that  you  can  have  any  of  liis 
dark  blood  in  your  veins,  and  why  does  he  never  speak 
of  your  mother  ? " 

"  She  died  so  long  ago.  But  do  not  speak  of  that, 
do  not  teach  me  to  doubt  my  own  father,  whom  I  have 
always  loved." 

«  But  he  has  a  fearful,  cruel  nature.    Why  should 

you  love  him  'i " 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  speak  so  of  him ;  he  has 
been  good  to  me,  and  I  love  him  and  reverence  his 

genius." 

«  Ah  1  his  genius  has  had  a  valuable  aid,  my  Lisa,  in 
your  beauty,  which  he  has  used  long  enough,  and  has 
turned  into  gold,  all  that  he  ever  shall ;  henceforth  it 
will  belong  to  me,  and  I  shall  guard  it  well  from  his 
covetous  eyes.  I  think  when  he  loses  you  he  will  i-e- 
gret  the  model  more  than  the  child." 

«I  cannot  think  so,  Valdiraer;  you  are  unjust  to 
him  because  you  do  not  know  how  tender  and  noble 


"Am 

i  be  his  model  ?  You 
i  a  thing  is  impossible." 
love  him.    Oh  I  Valdi- 

lave  you  over  thought 
)eing  your  father  ? " 
back  as  I  can  remem- 

ou  can  have  any  of  liis 
rhy  does  he  never  speak 

t  do  not  speak  of  that, 
«rn  father,  vrhora  I  have 

3l  nature.    Why  should 

peak  so  of  him  ;  he  has 
him  and  reverence  his 

valuable  aid,  my  Lisa,  in 
i  long  enough,  and  has 
)ver  shall ;  henceforth  it 
[  guard  it  well  from  his 
he  loses  you  he  will  i"e- 
child." 

mer;  you  are  unjust  to 
f^  how  tender  and  noble 


HUGOS  DBSPAIR 

his  heart  is,  in  spite  of  his  unprepossessing  appearance 
and  sullen  niannere.  And  1  am  sure  he  is  my  father, 
my  heart  has  never  doubted  it ;  therefore,  I^nust  love 
him  and  see  him,  and  you  will  not  deprive  me  of  that 
happiness  if  you  love  me." 

"  We  will  think  of  that  hereafter,  dearest.  I  shall 
find  a  pretty  little  nest  for  my  darling,  not  far  from 
Florence,  where  she  can  be  as  happy  as  a  bird  all  day 
long,  and  then  she  will  forget  all  the  past  and  live  only 

for  me." 

"  I  have  given  my  life  to  you,  Valdimer,  and  hence- 
forth it  is  only  yours." 

"  Sweet  love,  you  make  me  happy  beyond  expression 
when  you  speak  so  confidently  of  your  trust  in  me. 
Only  one  day  more,  and  my  treasure  shall  be  mine, 
forever.  I  shall  not  see  yon  again  until  I  hold  you  in 
my  arms,  never  again  to  lose  you.  To-morrow,  at  four 
o'clock,  I  have  an  appointment  here  with  your  father, 
to  see  the  statue  of  Hebe  completed.  I  shall  then  pay 
him  the  price  agreed  upon,  and,  instead  of  ordering 
him  to  send  the  work  to  its  final  destination,  I  shall 
request  him  to  keep  it  until  he  has  further  directions 
from  me,  for  it  would  be  cruel  to  rob  him  at  once  of 
his  model,  his  child,  and  the  most  perfect  production 
of  his  genius." 

«  Ah  I  Valdimer,  as  deariy  as  I  love  you,  my  heart 
aches  at  the  thought  of  leaving  him." 


824 


HUGO  GONFESaES. 


"  Then  you  regret  your  promise,  and  you  will  fail  to 
meet  me  to-morrow  night  1 " 

«  No,  I  jvill  not  fail  you.    Nothing  but  death  shall 
keep  mo  from  you." 

Then  the  wretched  Hugo  heard  a  few  low-spoken 
words  of  tender  farewell,  some  passionate  kisses,  and 
then  the  door  closing  upon  Count  Nordiskoff,  and  after 
that  the  slow,  soft  step  of  Lisa  as  she  went  to  her  own 
room,  and  he  remembered  no  more.  The  world  seemed 
to  glide  away  from  beneath  his  feet,  and  slipping 
from  the  chair,  where  he  had  listened,  as  silent  as  the 
statue  before  him,  he  fell  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor  and 
lay  like  one  dead,  without  sound  or  motion. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HUGO   0ONFE88K8. 

|OUNT  VALDIMER  NORDISKOFF,  after 
his  interview  with  Lisa,  which  we  have  re- 
corded in  the  previous  chapter,  went  directly 
to  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  in  order  to  make  some 
excuse  for  his  intended  absence  from  Florence  for  a 
few  days. 
It  was  a  little  over  two  weeks  since  the  Duchess  had 


^ 


sass. 

36,  and  you  will  fail  to 

othing  but  death  shall 

sard  a  few  low-spoken 
passionate  kisses,  and 
it  Nordiskoff,  and  after 
18  she  went  to  her  own 
TO.  The  world  seemed 
[lis  feet,  and  slipping 
stened,  as  silent  as  the 
leap  upon  the  floor  and 
I  or  motion. 


HUGO  CONFESSES. 


895 


XXI. 


3BKS. 


NOEDISKOFF,  after 
Isa,  which  we  have  re- 
B  chapter,  went  directly 
in  order  to  make  some 
B  from  Florence  for  a 

B  since  the  Duoh^s  had 


returned  from  her  country  residence,  and  during  that 
time  nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  her  happiness 
with  Valdimer.  They  had  appeared  in  public  to- 
getlier,  and  it  was  well  understood  in  the  fashionable 
world  that  the  beautiful  Duchess  was  at  last  to  marry 
the  man  of  her  choice. 

There  was  a  romance  about  this  long  attachment 
that  pleased  the  sentimental  character  of  the  Italians, 
and  gave  a  poetical  coloring  to  what  otherwise  might 
liave  been  quite  commonplace.  So,  wherever  they 
went,  they  were  the  courted  and  flattered  idols  of 
Bociety. 

"  The  Duchess  seems  to  have  renewed  her  youth," 
said  one  of  her  admirers,  watching  her  as  she  drove 
through  the  Cascine  with  Valdimer  by  her  side,  her 
face  radiant  with  happiness,  and  her  lips  wreathed 
with  smiles. 

"Yes,  happiness  makes  one  young,"  returned  an- 
other of  a  group  of  fashionable  loungers  about  the 
music  stand.  "  It  was  a  lucky  thing  for  her  that  Cas- 
tellai-a  was  taken  off  the  way  he  was,  for  she  must  have 
been  tired  of  waiting." 

"  There  is  a  mystery  about  his  death  fully  as  great 
as  that  singular  affair  of  Challonner.  Do  you  remem- 
ber him ;  the  young  Englishman  who  was  killed  by 
the  brigands  ? " 

«  The  brigands  1    Ah  I  that  is  good,"  laughed  the 


64- 

I 


826 


HUGO  CONFESSES. 


■  group.    "  Why,  who  over  doubted  that  Castellara  had 
biin  put  out  of  tho  way  ?  " 

"  Well,  who  can  tell  but  what  the  Duke  was  paid  in 
his  own  coin  when  that  dagger-blow  was  struck  in  tho 
Casciue?  Heaven  knows  Nordiskoff  waited  long 
enough  for  him  to  die  a  natural  death." 

"  Oh  I  nonsense.  NordiskofE  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  death,  it  was  some  one  who  had  a  stronger  motive 
than  a  lover's  impatience." 

"Well,  1  suppose  it  does  not  matter  much,  as  long  as 
he  is  out  of  the  way,  how  he  was  taken  off.  For  my 
part  I  am  glad  that  she  is  free  at  last  and  can  marry 
the  man  she  loves,  for  slxe  suffered  enough  with  Cas- 
tellara,  who  was  a  cruel,  cold,  selfish  brute." 

And  so  society  discussed  her,  while  she  went  about 
with  a  jiappy  face,  and  a  comparatively  happy  heart, 
in  spite  of  the  twinges  of  conscience  now  and  then, 
which  she  was  becoming  accustomed  to.  The  stream 
of  her  life  seemed  to  be  running  smoothly  at  last,  and 
80  she  surrendered  herself  to  it,  contented  to  be  carried 
along  over  these  verdant  plains  and  sweet,  flowery 
vales  of  pleasure,  never  dreaming  of  the  broad,  stormy 
ocean  before  her,  or  the  lurid,  tempestuous  heavens 
above  her. 

When  Valdimer  entered  the  reception-room  at  the 
Castellara  palace,  on  the  day  of  which  we  are  writing, 
he  found  Enrico  waiting  to  be  announced.    On  seeing 


S8SE& 

bted  Ihat  Caatellara  had 

it  the  Duko  was  paid  in 
-blow  was  struck  in  tho 
ordiskoff  waited  long 
,1  death." 

E  had  nothing  to  do  with 
o  had  a  stronger  motive 

;  matter  much,  as  long  as 
was  taken  off.  For  my 
ee  at  last  and  can  marry 
ffered  enough  with  Cas- 
solfish  brute." 
er,  while  she  went  about 
nparatively  happy  heart, 
inscience  now  and  then, 
istomed  to.  The  stream 
ng  smoothly  at  last,  and 
t,  contented  to  be  carried 
ains  and  sweet,  flowery 
ling  of  the  broad,  stormy 
id,  tempestuous  heavens 

16  reception-room  at  the 
of  which  we  are  writing, 
>  anuounced.    On  seeing 


nUGO  CONFESSES. 


827 


Nordiekoff  ho  rose  and  came  toward  him  with  an  air 
of  cold  restraint,  quite  different  from  his  usual  frank, 
pleasant  manner,  saying,  "I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  for 
I  have  been  trying  to  see  you  all  day." 

« Indeed,  Enrico ;  then  how  is  it  I  have  missed 
you  ? "  returned  Valdimer  offering  his  hand  cordially, 
which  his  companion  appeared  not  to  see,  for  he  did 
not  advance  to  take  it. 

«I  wish  to  have  a  little  private  conversation  with 
you.  Count  Nordiskoff;"  the  Count  used  by  Enrico 
was  ominous,  and  Valdimer  felt  a  tremor  of  guilt  pass 

over  him. 

"  Very  well,  my  friend,  1  am  at  your  service,  if  the 
Ducliess  is  not  awaiting  me." 

«  She  will  excuse  yon  when  she  leanis  that  1  am 
speaking  to  you  on  her  behalf,"  said  Eurico  opening 
the  door  of  the  library  and  making  a  sign  for  Nordis- 
koff to  enter.  "  Let  us  speak  here,  where  we  shall  not 
be  overheard." 

The  room  was  empty.  At  one  end  was  a  hand- 
somely carved  screen  before  an  alcove,  and  near  this 
the  two  men  took  their  seats. 

"Your  manner  forebodes  something  unpleasant, 
Enrico,"  said  Valdimer  lightly,  "but  pray  speak 
quickly,  for  I  am  impatient  to  see  your  cousin." 

«  Yonr  impatience  now  is  quite  remarkable,  seeing 
you  controlled  it  so  admirably  during  your  long  visit 


ft: 


828 


UVaO  CONFESSES. 


in  the  Via  San  Gallo,"  returned  Enrico  with  cutting 

coldneBB. 

"  Ah !  then  yon  have  boon  spying  upon  my  actione, 
an  occupation  tmly  wortliy  of  you,  Count  Altinionti." 

«  That  I  have  not  cIduo,  as  you  well  know,  but  acci- 
dentally I  have  learned  of  your  affair  with  the  hunch- 
l)ii(:k'8  daughter,  and  I  wish  you  to  explain  your  con- 
duct to  mo,  as  I  am  the  only  natural  protector  of  the 
Duchess  of  CastoUara,  whose  promised  husband  you 

are." 

"I  am  not  accustomed  to  explain  my  private  ailaire 
to  any  one  ;  I  therefore  beg  that  you  will  excuse  mo 
and  allow  me  to  say  g(X)d  morning,"  said  Nordiskoff, 
angrily  rising  and  turning  toward  the  door. 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  leave  until  you  hear  what  I 
have  to  say,"  returned  Enrico  resolutely.  "  When  my 
cousin,  the  Duchess,  told  me  of  her  engagement  to  you, 
she  also  spoke  of  some  suspicion  she  had  concerning 
your  interest  in  this  beautiful  and  innocent  girl.  I 
will  avow  that  previously  I,  too,  had  some  reason  to 
think  that  you  entertained  a  passion  for  her  unworthy 
of  you ;  but  circumstances  changed  my  opinion,  and  I 
thought  I  had  wronged  you,  so  when  the  Duchess 
asked  me  solemnly  and  earnestly  if  I  believed  you 
were  free  from  your  infatuation  for  Hugo's  daughter, 
I  assured  her  that  you  were,  and  so  set  her  mind  at 
ease  on  a  matter  that  had  caused  her  no  little  pain  and 


1!88EE 

ed  Enrico  with  cutting 

pying  upon  my  actions, 
pu,  Count  Altiniouti." 
ou  well  know,  but  acci- 
r  affair  with  the  hunch- 
•u  to  explain  your  con- 
latnrnl  protector  of  tho 
proniised  liusband  you 

plain  my  private  affaire 
liat  you  will  excuse  mo 
irning,"  said  Nordiskoff, 
ard  the  door, 
e  until  you  hear  what  I 
•esolutely.  "When  my 
her  engagement  to  you, 
:ion  she  had  concerning 
I  and  innocent  girl.  I 
oo,  had  some  reason  to 
assion  for  her  unworthy 
inged  my  opinion,  and  I 
,  so  when  the  Duchess 
estly  if  I  believed  you 
an  for  Hugo's  daughter, 
and  80  set  her  mind  at 
>ed  her  no  little  pain  and 


nuaO  CONFESSES. 


m 


niixiety.  Now  I  know  that  unwittingly  I  doccivod  licr, 
that  you  are  still  in  pursuit  of  tins  poor  child,  that  it 
was  through  your  iuBtigution  tho  attempt  to  abduct  her 
was  made,  and  that  (JaHtollara  perlHlied  by  tho  hand  of 
her  father  for  your  fault  instead  of  his  own.  All  this 
I  have  learned,  and  1  kiunv  that  you  visit  iior  daily 
thu-ing  hor  father's  absence,  and  that  yoii  jjrofoss  a 
love  for  her  which  only  belongs  to  the  woman  yon  are 
about  to  wed." 

During  Enrico's  speech  his  companion  turned  paler 
and  paler,  and  when  at  last  he  paused  for  an  uiiHwer, 
Valdimer  said,  hoarsely  and  angrily :  "  I  have  heard 
enough ;  I  do  not  like  to  give  an  account  of  myself  to 
jou  like  a  school-boy  to  his  tutor.  Your  relation  to  tho 
Duchess  you  believe  gives  you  tho  right  to  exact  ex- 
planations which  she  alone  should  demand.  1  will 
make  them  to  her  and  not  to  you.  I  am  not  yet  lier 
husband ;  until  that  time  1  am  my  own  master,  and 
shall  do  as  I  please  in  regard  to  tho  girl  you  speak  of." 

"  Then,  by  Heaven,  you  shall  not." 

"  Who  will  prevent  me  ? " 

"  1  will,"  cried  Enrico,  his  eyes  flashing  ominously. 

"  By  what  right,  pray,  do  you  exercise  such  author- 
ity 1" 

"Hove  the  girl  honorably,  I  have  saved  her  from 
you  once  and  I  will  again." 

«  Good  Heavens,  this  ia  too  much,"  said  NordiskotF, 


M 


830 


HUGO   CONFESSES. 


as  pale  as  deatl)  and  trembling  with  8upi)refised  fury. 
"  My  former  friendship  for  you,  Count  Altiraonti,  my 
love  for  yonr  cousin,  have  given  me  patience  and  en- 
abled me  to  control  myself,  but  I  can  do  so  no  longer. 
Tiiere  is  only  one  honorable  way  to  settle  o.ur  dispute. 
You  underetand  what  that  is.*' 

"Gentlemen,  I.  trust  you  will  not  quarrel  on  my 
account,"  cried  a  clear,  proud  voice,  and  the  Duchess 
or  Castellara  stepped  out  from  behind  the  screen,  pale 
and  haughty,  but  calm  and  self-jwEsessed.  "  Unfor- 
tunately I  was  reading  here  when  you  entered,  and 
hearing  my  name  a  woman's  natural  curiosity  prompted 
me  to  listen.  I  have  heard  enough,  and  I  beg  that 
you  will  not  connect  me  with  the  low-born  girl  about 
whom  yon  are  disputing." 

"  I  entreat  you  to  allow  me  to  explain  the  matter, 
Duchess,"  cried  Valdimer,  springing  forward  and 
attempting  to  take  her  hand. 

She  waved  him  away  coldly,  while  her  steady,  level 
gaze  seemed  to  read  his  cowardly,  sinful  soul.  "  There 
is  no  need  of  an  explanation.  I  am  to  blame  for  trust- 
ing you.  Spare  me  the  humiliation  of  further  remark 
upon  the  subject." 

"  I  regret,  cousin,"  said  Enrico  sorrowfully,  "  that 
you  have  overheard  this  unfortunate  conversation ; 
however,  it  has  saved  me  the  pain  of  telling  you  of 
my  discovery." 


r  with  8upi)re8sed  fury. 
I,  Count  Altimonti,  my 
n  me  patience  and  en- 
1 1  can  do  so  no  longer, 
ly  to  settle  o.ur  dispute. 

ill  not  quarrel  on  my 
voice,  and  the  Duchess 
behind  the  screen,  pale 
elf-i>ossessed.  "  Unfor- 
when  you  entered,  and 
tural  curiosity  prompted 
inough,  and  I  beg  that 
the  low-born  girl  about 

to  explain  the  matter, 
pringing    forward    and 

,  while  her  steady,  level 
lly,  sinful  soul.  "  There 
I  am  to  blame  for  trust 
iation  of  further  remark 

irico  sorrowfully,  "  that 

fortunate   conversation ; 

pain  of  telling  you  of 


HUGO  CONFESSES. 


m- 


"  It  is  all  the  same,  Enrico ;  I  should  have  learned  it 
some  time,  and  it  is  better  now  tlian  later.  Count 
Valdimer  Noixiiskoff,  from  this  moment  you  have  your 
freedom,  and  I  trust  you  will  find  the  happiness  in  it 
which  you  professed  to  enjoy  with  mo ;  allow  me  to 
wish  you  good  morning,"  and  with  a  haughty  bow,  she 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

Valdimer  looked  after  her  with  bewildered  silence, 
then  turning  furiously  uiK)n  Enrico,  he  cried :  "  Yon 
shall  suffer  for  this ;  you  shall  hear  from  me  again." 

"  Whenever  you  like,  1  am  at  your  service,"  replied 
Enrico  coldly  ;  and  turning  his  back  upon  his  former 
friend,  he  walked  away,  leaving  him  alone,  the  picture 
of  baffled  rage,  disappointment,  and  surprise. 

The  Duchess  of  Castellara,  when  once  out  of  the 
sight  of  the  man  she  loved,  forgot  her  pride  and  com- 
posure ;  with  a  trembling  step  she  reached  the  privacy 
of  her  own  room,  and,  lock.ng  the  door,  she  threw  her- 
self into  a  chair,  and  covering  her  face,  sobbed  :  "  It 
is  over.  I  knew  it  could  not  last.  I  am  not  to  be 
happy.  A  cui-se  follows  me  and  crushes  me  at  every 
step.  Oh,  Valdimer  1  what  a  return  for  my  patient, 
enduring  love.  Why  should  you,  of  all  others,  deceive 
and  wound  me  so  ?  and  for  tliat  ignorant  child — that 
low-bom  beggar.  My  God!  how  I  forget  my  pride 
when  I  can  weep  after  such  an  insult,"  Then  rising, 
she  paced  the  floor  with  flaming  eyes  and  clenched 


332 


nVQO  CONFESSES. 


hands.  "  No !  no !  I  will  not  weep,  1  will  be  avenged. 
He  shall  never  have  her ;  I  will  find  some  means  to 
take  her  from  him.  She  shall  die  before  she  shall  be 
his.  There  must  be  some  means  of  separating  them. 
Let  me  think,  1  must  not  act  hastily.  Ah !  there  is 
another  obstacle;  Enrico,  ray  cousin,  loves  her;  he 
loveo  her,  and  he  is  my  only  friend,  and  I  must  not 
wound  him  to  satisfy  my  pride  and  anger.  No,  I  will 
help  him  to  save  her  from  Valdimer,  that  will  be  the 
sweetest  revenge  I  can  have,  to  assist  his  rival  to  win 
her ;  and  yet  I  hate  the  girl,  and  would  rather  do  her 
harm  than  good." 

And  Lisa,  innocent,  trusting  child,  while  these 
dreadful  complications  were  gathering  around  her,  un- 
conscious of  all  the  trouble  she  was  causing,  wa-t  think- 
ing fondly  of  Valdimer,  wishing  the  hours  away  until 
she  should  see  him  again,  her  tender  heart  fluttering 
with  mingled  love,  fear,  and  sorrow,  yet  none  the  less 
resolved  to  obey  her  lover's  wishes,  and  to  forsake  all 
for  him. 

It  was  nearly  Ave  Maria,  and  Father  Ilario,  thankful 
that  his  day's  duties  were  over,  was  about  stepping  ont 
of  one  of  the  confessionals  in  San  Marco,  when  sud- 
denly Hugo,  the  hunchback,  appeared  before  him, 
wild-eyed,  haggard,  and  trembling. 

"  I  have  come  to  confess  all,"  he  cried,  without  wait- 
ing for  the  priest  to  address  him  first. 


SES. 

ep,  1  will  be  avenged. 
I  find  some  means  to 
ie  before  she  shall  be 
B  of  separating  them, 
astily.  Ah!  there  is 
tousin,  loves  her;  he 
iend,  and  I  must  not 
nd  anger.  No,  I  will 
imer,  that  will  be  the 
Lissist  his  rival  to  win 
1  would  rather  do  her 

r  child,  while  these 
lering  around  her,  un- 
ms  causing,  wa-t  think- 
;  the  hours  away  until 
ender  heart  fluttering 
row,  yet  none  the  less 
lies,  and  to  forsake  all 

Father  Ilario,  thankful 

vas  about  stepping  orit 

San  Marco,  when  sud- 

appeared  before  him, 

Ing. 

he  cried,  without  wait- 

1  first. 


BUGO  CONFESSES. 


"  I  expected  you  six  months  ago,"  returned  Father 
Ilario  dryly  ;  "  but,  thank  God,  it  is  never  too  late  for 
His  mercy." 

"I  intended  to  come  then.  I  should  have  come 
when  I  promised  you,  but  I  lacked  the  courage," 
gi-oancd  the  wretched  creature,  falling  on  his  knees. 

"  Well,  ray  son,  as  I  said,  it  is  not  too  late ;  open 
your  heart  to  me  now ;  keep  nothing  back,  and  I  will 
try  to  gain  pardon  for  you." 

Then  Hugo,  covering  his  face,  told,  with  a  choking, 

hesitating  voice,  of  his  theft  of  the  child  that  night 

near  the   Church  of     San   Salvador;  and  while  he 

•    ke  Father  Ilario  listened  intently,  with  a  strange 

' .      ;   ion  of  interest,  and  a  sudden  kindling  of  his 

"  And  you  have  never  made  any  effort  to  discover 
the  parents  of  the  girl  ? "  asked  the  priest,  when  he 
had  finished  speaking. 

"Never,  father!  I  have  rather  tried  to  hide  her 
from  all  the  world,  and  I  have  made  her  and  every  one 
believe  that  she  is  my  daughter." 

"A  terrible  deception,  and  perhaps  a  terrible 
wrong  to  her.  Have  you  no  suspicion  to  whom  she 
belongs  1 " 

"  None,  whatever." 

"  "Was  there  nothing  about  the  clothing  that  would 
indicate  it  ? " 


334 


HUGO  CONFESSES. 


i 


# 


"There  was  only  this,  Father  llario,?'  said  Hugo, 
reluctantly  drawing  forth  the  clasp,  that  he  had  kept 
concealed  so  many  years,  and,  putting  it  in  the  priest's 
hand,  looking  about  him  timidly  as  he  did  so.        ; 

«  A  costly  trinket,  though  small ;  a  coronet  and 
legend.  This  will  be  a  clue  to  discover  the  girl's  paren- 
tage." 

"  Oh !  father,  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  I  must 
give  her  up,  that  they  will  take  her  away  from  me? " 

"  Certainly,  if  we  can  discover  to  whom  she  belongs, 
that  is  all  the  reparation  you  can  make." 

«I  will  never  make  it,"  cried  Hugo  furiously. 
«  Never,  never !  no  one  shall  take  her  from  me.  She 
is  mine.  I  have  cared  for  her,  and  loved  her,  and  you 
cannot  make  me  give  her  up." 

«My  son,  she  is  not  yours,"  replied  the  priest, 
sternly.  "  You  stole  her,  and  before  God  will  forgive, 
you  must  make  restitution." 

"Then,  I  never  Avill  be  forgiven,"  returned  the 
hunchback,  with  sullen  determination,  «  for  no  living 
being  shall  take  her  from  me." 

«  Of  what  use  your  coming  to  me,  then  1  It  is  an 
abominable  mockery  to  God  as  well  as  the  Church. 
My  son,  you  must  expect  no  blessing  while  you  adhere 
to  such  a  resolution.  If  yon  had  stolen  treasures  from 
the  King,  would  you  expect  his  pardon  while  you 
retained  them  in  your  possession  ? " 


llario,?'  said  Hugo, 
sp,  that  he  had  kept 
tting  it  in  the  priest's 
18  he  did  so. 
nail ;  a  coronet  and 
cover  the  girl's  paren- 

n  to  say  that  I  must 
ler  away  from  me  ? " 
to  whom  she  belongs, 
make." 

ied  lingo  furiously, 
se  her  from  me.  She 
ad  loved  her,  and  you 

,"  replied  the  priest, 
ifore  God  will  forgive, 

•given,"  returned  the 
nation,  "  for  no  living 

o  me,  then  ?  It  is  an 
8  well  as  the  Church. 
58ing  while  you  adhere 
d  stolen  treasures  from 
his  pardon  while  you 
1?" 


SVOO  CONFESSES. 


336 


"But  she  belong8  to  me ;  licr  mother  was  dead  whon 
I  took  her,  therefore  she  is  mine." 

"  My  son,  the  woman  you  took  her  from  was  not  her 
mother,  and  more  than  that  she  was  not  dead." 

"  Madre  di  Dio  !    How  know  you   that  ?  "  cried 
lingo,  lo<jking  around,  his  face  distorted  with  terror. 

"  Because,  I  found  the  woman  myself,  unconscious, 
under  tlie  cypress  near  San  Salvador.  It  was  but  a 
day  before  I  left  for  Rome,  and  near  nightfall.  She 
was  lying  quite  insensible,  in  a  fit  caused  by  a  long 
journey  in  tlie  excessive  heat  of  the  day.  Happening 
to  have  a  flask  of  strong  liqueur  in  my  pocket,  I  raised 
her  head  and  forced  some  of  it  between  her  lips,  w'  "ch 
soon  revived  her.  On  returning  to  herself,  her  lii-at 
words  were :  '  Where  is  the  child ! '  Thinking  that  her 
mind  was  wandering,  I  tried  to  soothe  her,  telling  her 
that  there  was  no  child  with  her;  then  she  became 
half  wild,  and  declared  that  when  she  lost  conscious- 
ness she  had  a  babe  in  her  arms,  and  that  some  one  had 
stolen  it."  ^ 

"Did  she  tell  you  to  whom  the  child  belonged?" 
asked  Hugo  in  a  husky  voice. 

"No,  she  did  not,  though  I  pressed  her  closely,  she 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  tell  me.  She  only  said  that 
the  babe  had  been  given  her  to  nurse,  that  it  was  no 
common  -hild,  and  shq  was  paid  well  for  keeping  it, 
on  the  condition  that  she  would  send  her  own  infant 


336 


HUGO  CONFESSES. 


i>      ^ 


ftway  and  devote  herself  entirely  to  this  child,  which 
'ehe  agreed  to  do ;  but  her  intense  maternal  longing 
got  the  better  of  her  prudence,  and  she  had  walked 
miles  into  the  country,  taking  the  nursling  with  her,  to 
get  one  glimpse  of  her  own  babe ;  and  on  her  way 
back  she  had  fallen  insensible  under  the  cypress,  over- 
come by  heat  and  fatigue." 

"  Do  yon  remember  the  month  and  the  year  that 
this  occurred?"  asked  the  hunchback,  clinging  desper- 
ately to  the  hope  that  the  priest's  dates  and  his  own 
might  not  agree. 

"  Oil !  yes,  perfectly.  It  was  but  the  day  before  I 
left  for  Rome,  and  I  had  much  to  do  on  that  night,  and 
tlie  poor  woman  delayed  me  with  her  trouble.  Let 
me  see,  I  left  for  the  holy  city  July  7th,  1823,  there- 
fore this  was  on  the  eve  of  the  6th  day." 

Hugo  groaned  and  clenched  his  hands  wildly,  then 
trying  to  control  himself  he  asked,  "  Should  yon  know 
the  woman  if  you  saw  her  again  ? " 

«  Yes,  I  thin]|  I  should,  for  I  brought  a  lantern  from 
the  church  to  examine  every  spot,  thhiking  that  the 
child  might  be  concealed  among  the  trees,  for  it  was 
already  so  dark  that  we  could  not  tell  what  was  ftear  us, 
it  was  then  I  took  pains  to  study  her  face,  which  was 
an  uncommon  one,  for  I  wished  to  recognize  her  if  I 
met  her  again." 
"Was  she  of  ov\l  outline,  pale  and  tliin,  with  broad 


Ifc, 


8SE8. 

[y  to  this  child,  which 
enso  maternal  longing 
3,  and  Bhe  had  walked 
e  nursling  with  her,  to 
babe ;  and  on  her  way 
nder  the  cypress,  ovcr- 

mth  and  the  year  that 
liback,  clinging  despor- 
t's  dates  and  his  own 

but  the  day  before  I 
to  do  on  that  night,  and 
ffith  her  trouble.  Let 
y  July  7th,  1S23,  there- 
6th  day." 

his  hands  wildly,  then 
ked,  "  Should  yon  know 
tt?" 

brought  a  lantern  from 
spot,  thinking  that  the 
tng  the  trees,  for  it  was 
ot  tell  what  was  ftear  us, 
idy  her  face,  which  was 
id  to.  recognize  her  if  I 

ile  and  tliin,  with  broad 


mrOO  CONFESSES. 


837 


high  forehead,  and  a  black  mole  near  the  onter  corner 
of  the  left  eye  ? "  asked  Hugo,  in  a  trembling  voice. 
"The  very  same  ;  then  you  have  seen  her  ?" 
"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her,"  returned  the  hunchback, 
looking  as  though  he  would  burst  into  a  frenzy  of  rage 
at  any  moment. 

"  If  you  know  where  she  is  now,  and  can  find  her, 
wo  might  learn  all  about  the  girl  from  her;  doubtless 
she  knew  who  the  child's  parents  were." 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  ask  you  to  discover  my 
Lisa's  parents.  I  came  here  to  unburden  my  soul,  and 
seek  some  comfort  from  religion,"  cried  the  hunch- 
back, now  fairly  beside  himself  with  fear  and  despair. 
"  Wretched  man,  have  I  not  told  you  that  I  can  give 
you  no  consolation  nntil  yon  do  all  you  can  to  make 
reparation  for  your  sin!  If  you  know  where  this 
woman  is  to  be  found,  it  is  your  duty  to  confess  your 
fault  to  her,  and  ask  her  assistance  in  restoring  the 
child  to  her  parents,  if  they  are  living." 

"  I  cannot  do  it.  It  is  no  use  to  ask  me.  You  will 
not  betray  my  secret.  Father  Ilario.  Let  me  keep  the 
child,"  pleaded  the  poor  wret'sh,  joining  his  hands,  and 
looking  imploringly  at  the  pries*.  « I  am  a  most 
miserable  creature.  See,  I  am  ^ienitent  enough,  I  will 
confess  all.  I  am  a  greater  sinner  than  you  think.  I 
am  a  murderer." 
"  Holy  Mother  1 "  cried  the  priest,  crossin/j  himself. 


888 


EUaO  UONFESaSA 


"  Yo8,  to  save  this  child  from  misfortune,  I  killed 
the  Dnke  of  Caatellara.  What  more  could  I  do  to 
ehow  my  !  /o  for  her,  than  to  stain  my  soul  with  an- 
other's blood." 

rf'  Unf(jrtunate  man,  you  are  indeed  a  sinner,  and 
only  God's  mercy  can  save  you  from  the  just  punish- 
ment of  your  crimes.  Begin  your  penance  at  once. 
If  you  have  any  clue  whereby  you  can  discover  the 
parents  of  the  girl  you  call  yours,  follow  it  to  the  end, 
and  spare  no  pains  to  make  all  the  restitution  in  your 
power.  Humble  youi-self  in  the  dust;  fast,  and  pray, 
and  give  of  your  substance  for  masses  for  the  repose  of 
the  soul  of  your  unhappy  victim." 

"  Father,  I  will  do  all  you  wish  me  to  do.  I  will 
scourge  myself,  I  will  perform  any  penance  you 
inflict  upon  me,  I  will  be  humble  and  patient,  I  will 
give  half  I  have  to  the  poor,  I  will  sleep  on  thorns, 
and  walk  on  sharp  points  that  will  puncture  my  feet  at 
erery  step,  if  God  will  pardon  me,  and  give  me  peace, 
and  allow  me  to  keep  my  Lisa." 

"  Wretched  sinner,  do  yon  think  you  can  make  a 
compromise  with  the  most  High  1 "  said  Father  Ilario, 
sternly.  "  If  you  do  not  repent,  His  vengeance  will 
follow  you  as  sure  as  you  live,  and  you  will  be  robbed 
of  your  idol  in  some  other  way." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  the  avenger  is  on  ray  track.  I 
must  lose  her,"  he  cried,  with  frenzy.    "  Only  to-day, 


c 
a 
\^ 
ai 

cl 

B( 


m  misfortune,  I  killed 
t  more  could  I  do  to 
stain  my  soul  with  au- 

I  indeed  a  sinner,  and 
from  the  just  punish- 
pur  penance  at  once. 
'  you  can  discover  the 
ns,  follow  it  to  the  end, 
the  restitution  in  your 
le  dust;  fast,  and  pray, 
nasses  for  the  repose  of 
1." 

vish  me  to  do.  I  will 
rm  any  penance  you 
ible  and  patient,  I  will 
I  will  sleep  on  thorns, 
rill  puncture  my  feet  at 
me,  and  give  me  peace, 

think  you  can  make  a 
h } "  said  Father  Ilario, 
mt,  His  vengeance  will 
and  you  will  be  robbed 

Qger  is  on  ray  track.  I 
frenzy.    "  Only  to-day, 


BUOO  CONFESSES. 


339 


I  heard  her  say  to  another  that  nothing  but  deatli 
could  keep  her  from  him.  She  loves  anotlier  better 
than  she  loves  me,  and  she  will  leave  me  to  go  with 
him.  Tin's  thought  has  turned  my  brain.  There  is  a 
fire  hero  that  tortures  and  consumes  me— perhaps  I  am 
mad ;  but  no,  I  cannot  be,  because  I  am  conscious  of 
my  suffering.  1  know  all.  I  remember  all.  My  mind 
is  clear  and  strong.  Oh,  Father  I  tell  me  how  shall  I 
be  saved  from  myself  ? " 

*'My  son,  I  have  told  you,"  retui-ned  the  old  priest, 
compassionately.  «  Only  God  can  help  you.  You  are 
not  mad,  but  your  sin-eick  soul  is  in  torment.  Your 
conscience  burns  and  consumes  you  like  a  scorching 
fire.  Ask  the  Holy  Mother  to  shed  her  tears  of  divine 
compassion  upon  you,  that  the  flames  within  may  be 
quenched." 

"I  cannot  pray  I  I  tell  you  that  I  cannot  pray  I" 
cried  Hugo,  starting  from  his  knees  and  looking  wildly 
around.  "Let  me  go,  the  pain  gnawing  at  my  heart 
will  not  allow  me  to  rest.  Something  urges  me  on, 
and  I  must  obey.  1  hear  a  voice  calling  me ;  it  is  my 
child.  Ah  I  I  will  go  to  her;  she  is  my  hope,  my 
salvation." 

"He  is  a  blasphemer,  or  he  is  mad,"  said  Father 
Hario,  as  he  watched  him  rush  away  across  the  church 
and  disappear  through  the  door,  as  though  the  demon 
of  Tetribution  pursued  him. 


840 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 


When  ho  was  otif.  of  sight  the  priest  took  the  clasp 
from  liis  pocket,  and  examined  it  carefully.  "  He  has 
forgotten  the  trinket  in  his  excitement.  A  coronet, 
with  a  legend.  I  know  to  whom  it  belongs,  or  I  cannot 
read  Latin  rightly  ;  now,  if  I  could  but  discover  the 
woman  with  the  mole  near  her  left  eye,  the  hunchback 
might  learn  that  his  Lisa  belongs  to  an  old  and  power- 
ful family,  instead  of  being  the  friendless  waif  ho 
thought  her." 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

THE     BTA.TUE     OF     HEBE. 

bHAT  can  be  the  matter  with  your  father,  Sig- 
norinal"  said  Signora  Pia,  the  morning  after 
Hugo's  confession  to  Father  Hario.  "All 
night  long  I  heard  him  walking  the  floor  and  gwaning 
from  time  to  time  like  one  in  dreadful  pain.  I  could 
nor  bear  to  listen  to  it,  and  so  I  got  up  and  went  to 
his  door  softly,  to  inquire  if  he  were  ill,  and  I  could  do 
anything  for  him ;  but  he  was  so  angry,  and  looked  so 
wild  and  haggard  when  he  answered  my  knock,  that  I 
was  fairly  afraid  of  him." 

"What  did  he  say,  Signora  1  Was  he  ilU"  cried 
Lisa  with  sudden  pallor.  * 


»  HEBB. 

0  priest  took  the  claap 
it  cRrefully.  "  He  has 
ccitemont.     A  coronet, 

1  it  beloni^,  or  I  cannot 
jould  but  discover  the 
left  eye,  the  huncliback 
rs  to  an  old  and  power- 
tho  friendless  waif  he 


XXII. 


)  F     HEBE. 


i-  with  your  father,  Sig- 
a  Pia,  the  morning  after 

0  Father  Ilario.  "All 
g  the  floor  and  gwaniug 
dreadful  pain.  I  could 
BO  I  got  up  and  went  to 
)  were  ill,  and  I  could  do 

1  so  angry,  and  looked  so 
iBwered  my  knock,  that  I 

ral  "Was  he  illi"  cried 


THE  STATUE  OF  UEDE. 

"He  told  me  to  gu  away  and  not  disturb  him.  I 
said  that  I  feared  he  was  in  pain,  and  he  answered, 
'  Ves,  I  am  in  pain,  but  no  one  can  euro  me.'  Thou 
he  closed  the  door  with  a  heavy  bang,  and  left  me 
standing  witliout." 

"  How  strange  I    What  could  ho  have  meant  ? "  re- 
turned Lisa  anxiously,  "  I  will  go  to  him  and  inquire." 
"  He  is  not  in  his  room,  Signorina ;  1  heard  him  go 
out  at  daybreak." 

"  Poor  papa  !  What  can  ail  him  ?  Have  you  not 
noticed,  Signora,  that  he  has  never  been  quite  the  same 
since  that  dreadful  night  we  were  so  frightened  com- 
ing from  church  ?  " 

"It  gave  him  a  great  shock  certainly,  as  well  it 
might,  and  no  doubt  he  has  worried  about  it,  beside  he 
has  worked  very  closely  lately  on  his  statue,  and  that 
has  affected  his  nerves ;  but  now  it  is  done.  To-day 
the  Russian  noble  comes  to  pay  him  for  it,  and  look  at 
it  for  the  last  time,  which  will  be  a  relief  to  your 
father,  though  I  shall  miss  seeing  his  handsome  face ; 
when  1  open  the  door  for  him,  he  always  has  a  pleas- 
ant smile  and  a  kind  word,  and  he  must  have  a  gener- 
ous heart  to  pay  such  a  price  for  a  piece  of  marble." 

"  But  papa  will  be  rich,  and  will  not  have  to  work  so 
hard  after  he  is  paid  this  money,"  returned  Lisa,  looking 
away  to  hide  the  color  that  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 
"Yes,  ten  thousand  aoxtdi  is  a  handsome  fortune, 


rs^sussHtf 


842 


TSE  STATUE  OF  nEBB. 


arid  he  will  be  aWo  to  give  you  a  Buitablo  dower  when 
you  tiiitl  a  huBbttiuL" 

"  Don't  upoftk  of  that,  Signora.  I  am  anxious  about 
papa.  I  wish  lio  would  return.  Where  can  lie  have 
gone  80  early,  and  why  docs  ho  remain  out  when  the 
heut  is  Bo  oppreMivo  1 " 

«  Doubtlosa  he  will  enter  soon,  for  he  has  eaten 
nothing,  and  while  I  am  waiting  to  servo  the  meal  I 
will  step  around  to  San  Marco,  and  say  a  prayer  for 
him,  that  all  may  go  well  on  this  important  day  I " 

«And  remember  me  also  while  you  are  praying," 
said  Lisa,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

«  Certainly  I  will,"  said  the  good  woman,  stooping  to 
kiss  the  girl  as  she  went  out. 

As  Signora  Pia  entered  the  Church  of  San  Marco, 
an  elderly  priest,  with  a  round,  pleasant  face,  and  a 
short,  stout  figure,  was  slowly  descending  the  steps, 
fanning  himsel?  with  his  broad-brimnicd  hat  as  ho 
walked.  With  a  sudden  exclamation  ho  stopped  in 
front  of  the  woman  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her 
arm,  while  he  looked  into  her  face  with  the  closest 

scrutiny. 

The  pale,  thin  features  of  Signora  Pia  turned  paler 
than  usual  under  the  priest's  searching  gaze,  and  turn- 
ing her  head  aside  she  said,  trembling  visibly: 

"  Pray  allow  me  to  pass.  Father,  for  I  have  bat  little 
time  for  my  devotions." 


HEBE. 


Buitablo  (lower 


I  am  ftuxioiis  ftbout 

Where  cftn  he  hiivo 

■einain  out  when  the 

on,  for  lie  has  oaten 

to  servo  the  meal  I 

and   Bay  a  prayer  for 

important  day ! " 

ile  you  are  praying," 

od  woman,  stooping  to 

s 

Ohurch  of  San  Marco, 
,  pleasant  face,  and  a 
descending  the  steps, 
d-briinniod  hat  as  ho 
mat  ion  ho  stopped  in 
detaining  hand  on  her 
face  with  the  closest 

piora  Pia  turned  paler 
irching  gaze,  and  turn- 
ibling  visibly: 
er,  for  I  have  bat  little 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 


348 


"Do  not  1)0  iti  a  hnrry,  my  daughter,  I  wish  a  word 
with  yoii.     If  I  mistake  not  I  have  seen  yon  hoforo." 

"  PoHsibly  you  have,  since  I  come  here  daily  to 
pray,"  returned  the  woman  evasively. 

"  Enter  this  confessional  with  mo,  where  our  conver- 
sation cainiot  bo  overboard,"  said  Father  Ilario,  for  it 
was  ho,  as  he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps  close  by 
the  woman's  side,  who  looked  around  anxiously,  as 
thougli  she  would  like  to  escape. 

"I  did  not  come  to  confess.  Father,  I  wi^U  to  say 
but  a  short  prayer  and  then  return  home,  whore  my 
duties  await  me." 

"  You  need  not  be  unwilling  to  listen  to  me,  I  will 
not  detain  you  long,  for  I  have  but  a  few  questions  to 
ask  you.  Have  you  ever  heard  aught  of  the  child  that 
was  stolon  from  you  more  than  sixteen  years  ago,  under 
the  cypress  trees  near  the  Church  of  San  Salvador  f " 

"I?  What  do  you  mean.  Father  ?  Pray  explain, 
for  your  question  confuses  me." 

"  Ah  I  my  good  woman,  do  not  affect  to  misunder- 
stand me.  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  and 
you  need  not  fear  me.  I  am  your  friend  now,  as  I 
was  on  that  night  when  I  assisted  you  to  search  for 
the  babe." 

"  Pardon  me.  Father,  I  was  not  certain  that  you 
were  the  same,  and  I  feared  some  one  who  was  not  my 
friend  had  discovered  me  and  would  betray  ray  secret" 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 


■    "  No,  your  secret  is  safe  with  me  ;  if  it  is  still  a 
secret.    Then  you  have  not  found  the  child  1 " 

"  I  have  not,  Father ;  for  years  I  was  absent  from 
Florence.  I  dared  not  remain  here  after  that  misfor- 
tune ;  and  I  preferred  that  those  to  whom  the  child 
belonged  should  believe  thet  we  had  disappeared  to- 
gether. My  own  infant  d^ed  suddenly  the  very  day 
after  my  nursling  was  stolen,  ani  so  I  had  nothing  to 
keep  me  here.  For  eiglit  yeara  I  wandered  about  in 
distant  cities  until  poverty  and  homesickness  drove  me 
back.  Since  I  returned  I  have  found  a  shelter  be- 
neath the  roof  of  a  kind-hearted  man  who  pitied  my 
forlorn  condition,  where  I  have  lived  in  seclusion  un- 
der an  assumed  name.  He  has  but  one  child,  and  I 
have  been  like  a  mother  to  her.  He  trusts  and  esteems 
me  and  I  have  a  comfortable,  respectable  home ;  there- 
fore, father,  I  pray  that  you  will  not  mjure  me  by  re- 
vealing my  past  misfortunes." 

"  Should  you  be  glad  to  hear  of  the  child  again,  and 
restore  her  to  her  parents  if  you  could  1 " 

«  Yes,  indeed ;  it  would  be  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life,  if  I  could  know  that  no  harm  had  come  to  the 
nursling,  and  that  she  was  living  and  well." 

"  Do  you  know  who  the  parents  of  the  child  are  1 " 

«  No,  Father,  I  know  nothing  of  the  parents  ;  but  I 
know  who  gave  the  child  into  my  keeping,  and  to  that 
person  I  should  restore  her  if  she  were  found." 


■)P  HEBE. 

^ith  me  ;  if  it  ia  still  a' 
und  the  child  ? "  ' 

^'ears  I  was  absent  from 
II  here  after  that  misfor- 
lose  to  whom  the  child 
we  had  disappeared  to- 
Ruddenly  the  very  day 
ani  80  I  had  nothing  to 
ii-s  I  wandered  about  in 
1  homesickness  drove  me 
ive  found  a  shelter  be- 
rted  man  who  pitied  ray 
ive  lived  in  seclusion  un- 
las  but  one  child,  and  I 
r.  He  trusts  and  esteems 
respectable  home ;  there- 
vill  not  injure  me  l»y  re- 
ar of  the  child  again,  and 
ou  could  1 " 

I  the  happiest  day  of  my 
3  harm  had  come  to  the 
insr  and  well." 
rents  of  the  child  are  ? " 
ng  of  the  parents  ;  but  I 
)  my  keeping,  and  to  that 
she  were  found." 


THE  STATUE  OF  BEBE. 


845 


«  Was  there  anything  about  her  by  which  you  could 
identify  her  ? " 

Signora  Pia  thought  deeply  for  a  moment,  and  then 
replied  :  "  The  only  thing  peculiar  thai  I  can  remem- 
ber, was  a  small  gold  clasp  that  fastened  its  little  robe 
at  the  throat." 

"  Should  you  know  it  if  you  saw  it  again  1 " 
"  Yes,  I  am  sure  I  should.     It  was  engraved  with  a 
coronet,  and  had  an  inscription,  which  was  too  small  to 
read  with  the  naked  eye." 

"Is  this  the  trinket «"  asked  the  priest,  laying  the 
clasp  in  Signora  Pia's  hand. 

"  Holy  Mother  1  it  is  the  very  one.  Tell  me,  pray, 
how  did  you  come  by  it?"  cried  the  woman,  excitedly. 
"Only  yesterday  I  discovered  the  man  who  stole 
the  child  from  you  while  you  were  insensible.  He 
thought  you  were  dead,  and  so  considered  that  he  had 
a  sort  of  right  to  take  the  infant  and  keep  her,  which 
he  has  done,  caring  for  her  very  tenderly,  I  should 
judge,  until  now.  She  has  grown  into  a  beautiful  girl, 
always  believing  him  to  be  her  father,  and  it  seems 
that  he  has  never  felt  any  compunctions  of  conscience 
until  the  present  time ;  and  yet,  he  is  resolved  not  to 
give  her  up  voluntarily,  feeling  for  her  an  exclusive 
and  savage  affection.  He  is  an  unfortunate,  half-in- 
sane creature  of  wonderful  genius,  deformed  and  un- 
healthy in  body  and  mind " 

16* 


■0' 


848 


THE  BTATUS  OF  BEBK. 


«  Madre  di  Dio  I  can  it  be  Signer  Hugo,  the  sculp- 
tor?" cried  the  woman,  trembling  with  Burprise  and 
apprehension. 

«  Yes,  he  is  the  man ;  and  the  girl  he  calls  Lisa  is 
the  child  he  stole  from  you;" 

«  Can  it  be  possible  ?  and  I  never  suspected  it ;  but 
how  should  I  ?  He  told  me  that  she  was  his  daughter, 
and  that  her  mother  was  dead,  and  I  believed  him. 
She  is  as  delicate  and  white  as  the  flower  she  is  named 
for,  and  he  is  dark  and  heavy  in  feature ;  truly,  a  dif- 
ferent blood  must  run  in  his  veins.  Why  did  I  never 
think  of  it,  before  ? " 

«  He  is  devotedly  attached  to  the  girl,  it  seems." 
« He  worships  her.    I  never  saw  a  human  being 
adore  another  as  he  does  this  lovoly  child." 

«  Poor,  unfortunate  man,  it  will  be  a  terrible  blow 
for  him  if  he  is  obliged  to  give  her  up." 

«I  fear  that  it  will  either  kill  him  or  drive  him  in- 
sane," returned  Signora  Pia,  wiping  her  eyes.  "And 
to  think  that  it  is  through  me  he  must  suffer;  he  has 
been  so  good  to  me.  Would  to  God  that  I  could  spare 
him  the  pain  of  parting  with  the  child." 

«  That  yon  cannot  do ;  it  is  your  duty  to  use  every 
means  to  restore  her  to  those  you  received  her  from." 

«  You  are  right.  Father.  My  own  conscience  tells 
me  plainly  what  I  must  do,  and  I  shall  not  hesitate  a 
moment." 


BEBR 

gnor  Hugo,  the  Bcnlp- 
ng  with  Burprise  and 

e  girl  he  calls  Lisa  is 

ever  suspected  it ;  but 

t  she  was  his  daughter, 

and  I  believed  him. 

be  flower  she  is  named 

I  feature ;  truly,  a  dif- 
ns.    Why  did  I  never 

the  girl,  it  seems." 
T  saw  a  human  being 
coly  child." 

dll  be  a  terrible  blow 
her  up.*' 

II  him  or  drive  him  in- 
iping  her  eyes.  "  And 
he  must  suffer ;  he  has 
God  that  I  could  spare 
e  child." 

your  duty  to  use  every 
)u  i-eceived  her  from." 
[y  own  conscience  tells 
i  I  shall  not  hesitate  a 


TBB  STATUE  OF  HBBB. 


m 


"  Are  you  sure  the  person  who  ents-ust  sd  the  child 
to  your  cai-e  is  still  living,  and  that  you  can  find  him 
or  her,  which  ever  it  was  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Father.  I  know  where  to  go  to  find  the  per- 
son, for  I  have  suffered  enough  from  dread  of  being 
discovered,  since  I  returned  to  Florence.  Once  I  have 
seen  her,  only  once ;  but,  thank  God,  she  did  not  rec- 
ognize me.  Now  that  I  know  where  the  child  is,  I 
shall  go  to  her  without  fear,  and  confess  the  whole." 

"  But  you  must  not  let  Hugo  know  of  your  intention 
or  he  will  be  desperate,  and  may  commit  some  rash 
act  that  will  prevent  our  doing  justice  to  the  girl,"  said 
Father  Ilario,  thoughtfully.  "  I  know  his  strange,  un- 
governable char.icter,  and  at  present  he  is  in  a  condition 
of  peculiar  mental  excitement ;  therefore,  if  he  sns- 
pected  that  measures  were  being  taken  to  restoi-e  the 
girl  to  her  lawful  guardians,  he  might  conceal  her,  where 
it  would  be  impossible  to  find  her." 

"This  accounts  for  his  restlessness  last  nigh*}  he 
never  slept,  but  paced  the  floor  and  groaned  like  one  in 
agony,  and  when  I  went  to  him  he  drove  me  away  sav- 
agely. I  knew  not  what  to  make  of  it,  but  now  I  un- 
derstand it  all." 

«  Through  my  description  of  you,  he  learned  from 
me  yesterday  that  you  were  the  woman  from  whom  he 
took  the  child,  and  whom  he  believed  to  be  dead,  and 
tliat  doubtleas  added  to  his  anxiety  and  trouble." 


348 


THE  STATUE  OF  EEBB. 


«  Merciful  Heaven  !  no  wonder  then  that  he  glared 
upon  me  like  a  wild  beast;  Father,  I  fear  to  return  to 
hia  house,"  said  Signora  Pia,  trembling  with  dread. 

«  Do  not  shrink  from  your  duty,  my  good  woman. 
Heaven  will  protect  you,  and  I  will  assist,  you  all  that 
lies  in  my  power.  Go,  now,  and  learn  what  yon  can 
concerning  the  parents  of  the  child,  and  return  here 
and  report  your  success  to  me ;  then,  I  will  advise  you 
what  to  do  after,  and  I  doubt  not  before  nightfall  that 
a  mother's  heart  will  be  made  glad  by  discovering  a 
long-lost  child." 

After  Father  Ilario  and  Signora  Pia  had  left  the 
church  and  were  out  of  sight,  a  bent  and  haggard  cr-.a- 
ture,  with  wild  eyes  and  drawn  face,  stepped  out  from 
behind  the  confessional,  where  he  had  overheard  the 
conversation  that  had  taken  place  between  the  priest 
and  the  woman,  and  shaking  his  fist  menacingly  in  the 
direction  that  they  had  taken,  he  muttered,  in  a  choked 
voice :  «  And  she  too,  the  outcast  that  I  trusted,  and 
loaded  with  khidness,  that  I  sheltered  when  she  was 
homeless,  and  fed  when  she  was  hungry,  she  will  con- 
spire to  rob  me  of  my  child.    O  viper  I  that  I  have 
warmed  at  my  fire,  you  think  to  turn  and  sting  me  ;  but 
I  will  protect  myself  from  you,  I  wiU  save  my  idol 
from  your  cruel  fangs,  your  poisonous  words  shall  not 
.enter  her  ears.    She  sliall  not  hear  you  say  that  the 
father  she  loves  is  a  monster,  a  thief,  a  murderer,  and 


r  EEBB. 

ler  then  that  he  glared 
ther,  I  fear  to  roturii  to 
jmbling  with  dread, 
duty,  ray  good  woman. 

will  assist,  you  all  that 
nd  learn  what  yon  can 

child,  and  return  here 
,  then,  I  will  advise  you 
lot  before  nightfall  that 
5  glad  by  discovering  a 

ignora  Pia  had  left  the 
I  bent  and  haggard  cr'ja- 
a  face,  stepped  out  from 
e  he  had  overheard  the 
lace  between  the  priest 
lis  fist  menacingly  in  the 
he  muttered,  in  a  choked 
itcast  that  I  trusted,  and 
sheltered  when  she  was 
ras  hungry,  she  will  con- 
.    O  viper  1  that  I  have 
to  turn  and  sting  me  ;  but 
you,  I  will  save  my  idol 
poisonous  words  shall  not 
at  hear  you  say  that  the 
a  thief,  a  murderer,  and 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 

more,  that  he  is  not  her  father,  but  a  vile  impos- 
tor. I  will  defeat  your  well-laid  plans ;  yon  shall  not 
have  her— no  mother's  heart  shall  be  made  glad,  no 
lover's  arms  shall  enfold  her  this  night,  for  I  will 
take  her  beyond  their  reach,  where  she  will  be  safe 

forever." 

Lisa  lay  on  the  sofa  in  her  room  anxiously  awaiting 
the  return  of  her  father  or  Signora  Pia,  but  as  the  hours 
wore  away  and  neither  came,  the  poor  girl's  mind  was 
filled  with  misgivings  of  the  most  harrowing  character. 
What  could  ail  her  father?  Had  he  discovered  her  secret, 
and  was  he  engaged  in  some  plan  to  prevent  hor  from 
leaving  her  home  that  night  with  Nordiskoff  ?  Or  was  he 
ill  and  unhappy  from  some  cause  that  she  knew  nothing 
of?    He  certainly  was  not  himself.    Of  late  he  had 
avoided  her,  or  treated  her  with  a  sort  of  savage  affec- 
tion.   She  had  detected  him  often  looking  after  her,  as 
though  he  would  devour  her,  with  a  wild,  hungry  look, 
such  as  she  had  sometimes  seen  in  the  eyes  of  the  tigers 
at  the  zoological  gardens,  and  she  had  trembled  with  a 
strange  fear  in  spite  of  her  love  for  him.    She  thought 
of  what  Nordiskoff  had  said  about  his  not  being  her 
father,  and  suddenly  she  felt  a  revulsion  of  feeling 
toward  him.    Then,  the  memory  of  all  his  goodness  to 
her,  his  tender  affection  during  her  helpless  childhood, 
his  gentle  care  and  patience,  melted  her  heart,  and  tears 
ro83  unbidden  to  her  eyes.    « I  am  ill  repaying  hun  to 


350 


THE  STATUE  OP  HEBE. 


leave  him,"  she  thought,  «  but  when  I  return  I  will  be 
80  good  and  loving  that  he  will  forgive  me  and  be 
happy  again." 

At  that  moment  she  heard  the  door  open,  and  a 
heavy,  uneven  step  crossed  the  studio.  **  It  is  he,  at 
last,"  she  cried,  and,  springing  up,  she  ran  to  meet  him, 
her  face  tender  with  her  recent  remorse  and  sorrow. 
But  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  his  suffering  countenance 
she  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay. 

«  Oh !  papa,  what  ails  you,  are  you  ill  1 » 
"  I  have  been  ill,  my  child,"  he  replied,  with  a  wan 
smile  ;  "but  I  am  better  now." 

*'  Why  have  you  remained  so  long  abroad  in  this 
terrible  heat  ? " 
"  Affairs  of  importance  have  detained  me." 
«  And  Signora  Pia,  where  can  she  be  1    She  went  to 
mass  two  hours  ago,  and  has  not  yet  returned." 

"Sleeping  over  her  prayers,  in  the  cool,  quiet 
church,  I  dare  say,"  returned  the  hunchback,  with  a 
hollow  laugh. 

«  The  time  has  seemed  so  long  since  I  have  waited," 
said  the  girl,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

«  You  are  not  well,  my  darling,"  and  Hugo  came 
close  to  his  daughter,  taking  her  hand  in  his,  and,  look- 
ing anxiously  into  her  face.    "  Your  hands  are  burn- 
ing,  and  your  cheeks  are  flushed." 
« It  is  the  heat,  papa,  and  my  anxiety  about  yoo." 


# 


f  HEBK 

rhen  I  return  I  will  be 
ill  forgive  me  and  be 

the  door  open,  and  a 
!  studio.  '*  It  is  he,  at 
ip,  she  ran  to  meet  him, 
>t  remorse  and  sorrow. 
B  suffering  countenance 

re  you  ill  1 " 
be  replied,  with  a  wan 

60  long  abroad  in  this 

detained  me." 
.nshebel    She  went  to 
)t  yet  returned." 
rs,  in    the    cool,  quiet 

the  hunchback,  with  a 

rig  since  I  have  waited," 

rling,"  and  Hugo  came 

sr  hand  in  his,  and,  look- 

'  Your  hands  are  burn- 

3d." 

ty  anxiety  about  yoo." 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 


351 


«  Then  you  really  love  your  poor  father  enough  to 

be  anxious  % " 
«0h!  papa,  how  can  you  doubt  iti"   she  cried, 

bui-sting  into  tears. 

In  a  moment  Hugo  had  his  arms  about  her  with  a 
close,  savage  clasp,  kissing  away  her  teai-s  passionately, 
while  he  said,  in  a  voice  intense  with  emotion:  «  Say 
that  you  love  me,  my  Lisa,  say  it  but  once.  Let  me 
hear  it  clear  and  sweet  as  you  said  it  in  childhood  ;  my 
ears  long  for  the  sound.     Say  it,  I  entreat  you." 

« I  love  yon,  papa,  you  know  I  love  you,"  cried  the 
girl,  struggling  to  free  herself  from  his  close  clasp; 
"but  you  terrify  me  with  your  violence,  with  your 

strange  manner." 

"That  is  enough;  thank  you,  my  sweet  child,  for 
those  blessed  words,  and  forgive  me  if  I  am  impulsive 
and  rude.  You  know  I  am  not  like  othei-s,"  sa.d 
Hn-o,  with  a  sudden  change  from  passionate  eagerness 
to  extreme  sweetness  and  gentleness.  «  Ah  I  I  have 
distressed  you,  your  eyes  are  full  of  teai-s,  and  your 
cheeks  are  hot  and  flushed.  You  are  tired,  you  are 
feverish ;  lie  down  and  I  will  bring  you  a  cooling 

draught." 

Lisa  obeyed  him  willingly,  for  her  anxiety,  her  own 
painful  thoughts,  her  father's  strange  agitation,  and 
the  contemplated  departure  with  Nordiskoff,  had  all 
unnerved   her   to  such  a  degi-ee    that  her  temples 


352 


TBS  STATUE  OF  HEBE! 


throbbed  painfully,  and  her  eyes  burned  with  the  tears 
that  would  come  to  them  m  spite  of  every  effort  to  re- 
press them. 

When  her  father  returned  with  the  cooling  draught 
she  took  it  and  drank  it  gratefully,  smiling  her 
thanks  as  she  lay  back  on  her  pillow ;  then  a  doliciona 
languor  stole  over  her,  a  sweet  sense  of  repose.  Her 
father  sat  by  her  side  smoothing  her  hair  tenderly; 
and  she  saw  his  face,  his  strange,  solemn  eyes,  his  look 
of  intense  love,  until  her  lids  fell,  and  a  heavy,  peaceful 
sleep  wrapped  her  in  its  embrace. 

Punctually  at  the  apiwinted  hour  Count  Valdimer 
presented  himself  at  the  studio  of  Hugo  to  express  his 
final  approval  of  the  statue,  and  to  pay  into  his  hands 
the  sum  agreed  upon. 

The  hunchback  opened  the  door  himself,  and,  in- 
stead of  his  usual  sullen  indifference,  his  manner  was 
that  of  one  greatly  elated,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  a 
ferocious  joy. 

"  Ah  I  the  mercenary  creature,"  thought  Valdimer ; 
now  that  ho  is  about  to  touch  the  peonuiaiy  reward  of 
his  labor,  he  is  more  delighted  than  he  ever  has  been  at 
my  most  extravagant  praises  of  his  work.  How 
strange  it  is,  that  his  divine  genius  can  be  united  to 
such  a  low,  sordid  nature.  My  sweet  Lisa  need  not 
mourn  to  leave  this  hideous  deformity,  the  money  will 
console  him,  it  will  be  enough  for  him  j  he  Mrill  have 


OF  HEBE 

'08  burned  with  the  tears 
pite  of  every  effort  to  re- 

vith  the  cooling  draught 
gratefully,  smiling  her 
pillow  ;  then  a  delicioua 
jt  sense  of  repose.  Her 
;hing  her  hair  tenderly; 
ge,  solemn  eyes,  his  look 
ell,  and  a  heavy,  peaceful 
ace. 
sd  hour  Count  Valdimer 

0  of  lingo  to  express  his 
ad  to  pay  into  his  hands 

le  door  himself,  and,  in- 
ifference,  his  manner  was 

1  his  eyes  sparkled  with  a 

;urc,"  thought  Valdimer ; 
the  peouuiaiy  reward  of 
than  he  ever  has  been  at 
es  of  his  work.  How 
I  genius  can  be  united  to 
Mv  sweet  Lisa  need  not 
leformity,  the  money  will 
;h  for  him ;  he  moU  have 


THE  STATUE  OF  EEBE. 


853 


no  further  need  of  her  beauty  to  win  him  wealth ;  he 
has  traded  upon  it  long  enough,  and  soon  it  will  be 
mine,  and  I  shall  keep  it  close  enough  from  his  covet- 
ous eyes." 

At  the  far  end  of  the  studio  hung  the  heavy  crimson 
curtain,  behind  which  the  artist  always  worked,  and 
which  was  now  lowered  before  the  completed  statue. 
Count  Valdimer  walked  toward  it,  and  was  about  to 
lift  it,  when  Hugo  touched  his  arm,  and  drew  him 
away,  saying,  as  he  offered  him  a  chair,  "  Do  not  be 
impatient,  Signer  Count,  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you  before  you  examine  the  statue." 

"  Very  well,"  returned  Nordiskoff,  throwing  himself 
into  a  chair  a  little  impatiently,  for  he  was  in  no 
mood  on  this  day  for  tedious  conversation,  when  but  a 
few  honrs  stood  between  him  and  his  long-anticipated 
happiness.    "  I  will  listen  if  you  will  be  brief,  for  I 

am  in  haste." 

Hugo  drew  his  chair  near,  and  leaning  forward,  and 
fixing  his  wild  eyes  upon  the  Count's  calm  face,  he 
asked  with  startling  intensity  in  his  voice,  «  Do  you 
know,  Signore,  what  I  love  best  in  the  world  ? " 

« 1 1  how  should  I  knowl  I  know  nothing  of  you 
beyond  your  genius ;  but  if  I  should  venture  an  opin- 
ion, I  should  say  that  it  must  be  your  daughter,  the 
lovely  model  of  all  your  works." 

"Yes, one  would  naturally  think  so;  but  it  is  not 


854 


THE  8TATUB  OF  HSBB. 


Lisa  that  I  love  best,  for  elie  is  not  my  child.  1  never 
had  a  wife;  I  never  had  a  child.  I  Btole  her  for  a 
model,  when  slie  was  but  an  infant." 

"  Wretcliod  man,  why  have  you  not  confessod  this 

before  ? " 

"  Hush,  do  not  interrupt  me.  I  have  kept  the  girl 
only  for  the  wealth  she  brought  me,  for  it  has  been 
her  beauty  as  much  as  my  talent  that  has  raised  me 
fiom  want  and  misery.  Lovely  and  affectionate 
though  she  is,  I  do  not  adore  her  as  much  as  1  do 
what  I  create  from  her.  Every  statue  I  model  is  a 
part  of  myself,  and  every  one  I  dispose  of  takes  a  part 
of  my  heart  and  life  with  it.  I  know  your  opinion  of 
me,  Signore ;  you  think  I  am  a  sordid,  avaricious  crea- 
ture, who  loves  money  more  than  his  art ;  but  you  are 
mistaken.  I  love  my  art  more  than  money,  and  I  will 
prove  it  to  you.  This  statue  that  I  have  just  finished 
is  the  most  perfect  thing  that  I  have  ever  executed.  I 
worship  it,  and  I  cannot  part  with  it." 

"Whatl"  cried  Valdimer,  "do  you  not  intend  to 
keep  to  your  agreement  with  mo  ? " 

"Yes,  if  you  insist  upon  my  keeping  it;  but  I 
appeal  to  yoi.r  generosity." 

"I  cannot  be  generous  in  this  matter.  I  have 
ordered  the  statue,  and  I  am  here  to  pay  you  for  it ; 
now  let  us  consider  the  matter  settled  definitely." 

A  strange  expression  passed  over  Hugo's  face,  and 


HSBB. 

at  my  child.    1  never 

cl.    I  Btole  her  for  a 

It." 

on  not  confeBsod  thia 

I  have  kept  the  girl 
;  me,  for  it  has  been 
ut  that  has  raised  me 
ely  and  affectionate 
her  as  much  as  I  do 
jT  statue  I  model  is  a 
lispoeo  of  takes  a  part 
know  your  opinion  of 
ordid,  avaricious  crea- 
1  his  art ;  but  you  are 
han  money,  and  I  w\\i 
A  I  have  just  finished 
lave  ever  executed,  I 
;h  it." 

do  you  not  intend  to 
i" 
ly  keeping  it;   but  I 

this  matter.     I  have 
ere  to  pay  you  for  it ; 
Bttled  definitely." 
over  Hugo's  face,  and 


THE  BTATVE  OF  HEBB. 


355 


ho  said  almost  ontreatingly,  "  Oh,  Signore  1  cannot  you 
ppiiro  mo  this,  the  only  thing  I  love— this  work  of  my 
hands,  of  my  brain,  and  of  my  heart?  I  have  created 
it,  and  1  never  loved  anything  as  much  as  I  love  this. 
As  greatly  as  I  desire  wealth,  I  prefer  to  resign  the 
large  sum  yon  are  about  to  pay  mo,  and  keep  the 
Ilebo.  Cannot  1  make  a  compromise  with  you  ?  Can- 
not I  give  you  something  in  its  place?"  and  the 
hunchback  leaned  nearer  to  his  companion,  looking 
into  his  eyes  with  a  fiendish  leer. 

Count  Valdimer  changed  color,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Hal  hal  1  have  discovered  your  secret;  you  love 
Lisa,  you  love  my  model ;  now  let  me  make  a  fair  pro- 
posal, give  mo  the  ten  thousand  acudi  for  her,  and 
allow  me  to  retain  her  image." 

"  Fiend  I  "  cried  Nordiskoff.  "  Would  you  sell  this 
lovely  girl  ? " 

"  I  would  rather  part  with  her  than  with  the  Hebe, 
and  you  would  rather  have  her.    Would  you  not  ? " 

"I  prefer  her  to  anything  in  the  world,  for  I  love 
her,"  said  the  Count.  "  How  you  have  discovered  my 
secret  I  know  not,  and  I  care  not.  I  worship  her,  but 
I  will  not  bargain  for  her." 

"  I  cannot  give  up  both  the  statue  and  the  model ; 
no,  I  cannot,"  returned  Hugo  with  fearful  emphasis. 
"  Choose,  then,  one  or  the  other,  for  I  am  resolved  to 
keep  one." 


856 


TIIK  STATUE  OF  IIEBB. 


"Well,  then,"  returned  Valdinior,  after  a  moment'* 
thought.  "  You  may  keep  the  statue,  and  proniiao  mo 
not  to  raise  any  obstacloa  to  keep  Lisa  froju  mo,  and 
you  may  have  the  ten  thousand  scudi  al8t>." 

"  Ah  1  Signor  Count,  now  you  are  noble  and  geuo- 
rouB,"  cried  the  hunchhaek  in  a  tone  of  wild  joy. 
« You  may  have  the  girl,  I  will  give  her  to  you  with 
my  own  hands  ;  but  before  I  bring  her  to  you,  I  pray 
that  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  look  at  the  statue,  for 
you  have  not  seen  it  since  I  put  my  choicest  touches 
upon  it.    Ah  I  it  is  life-like,  it  is  wonderful." 

"  What  demon  of  avarice  pt)88088C8  this  hideous  crea- 
ture? lie  seems  transformed  into  a  greedy  fiend," 
thought  Valdimer,  as  ho  followed  him  to  the  spot 
where  the  statue  stood  concealed  behind  the  heavy 

drapery. 

With  his  long,  ti-embling  fingers  clutching  the  cur- 
tftin,  the  hunchback  turned,  and,  looking  full  in  the 
Count's  face,  ho  said,  in  a  hollow  voice  that  swept  over 
him  like  an  icy  wind:  "This  is  the  fairest,  the  best 
loved  thing  I  possess.  It  is  as  beautiful  as  though  it 
were  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God.  It  is  my  work. 
Behold  it! "  and  with  one  sweep  of  his  hand  he  flung 
the  drapery  aside,  and  revealed  what  it  had  covered. 

Count  Valdimer  stood  transfixed,  white  and  cold,  for 
instead  of  the  radiant  Hebe,  the  goddess  of  youth,  the 
cupbearer  of  Jupiter,  he  saw  the  pale,  dead  form  of 


F  HEBE. 

linior,  after  a  inomcnt'u 
statue,  and  proiniso  ino 
ecp  Lisa  from  me,  ami 
i  scudi  alw)." 
ou  are  noble  and  gene- 
ill  a  tone  of  wild  joy. 
11  give  her  to  yoii  witli 
bring  her  to  you,  I  pniy 
to  look  at  the  statue,  for 
)Ut  my  choicest  touches 
t  is  wonderful." 
88CS80S  this  hideous  crca- 
i  into    a  greedy  fiend," 
lowed   him  to   the  spot 
jaled  behind  the  heavy 

iigera  clutching  the  cur- 
and,  looking  full  in  the 
ow  voice  that  swept  over 
3  is  the  fairest,  the  best 
i8  beautiful  as  though  it 
f  God.  It  is  my  work, 
eep  of  his  hand  he  flung 
id  what  it  had  covered, 
jfixed,  white  and  cold,  for 
the  goddess  of  youth,  the 
r  the  pale,  dead  form  of 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 


857 


Lisa  extended  on  a  con(!h,  hor  lovely  figure  veiled  by 
the  golden  drapery  of  hor  hair,  her  hands  folded,  hor 
face  uptijrned  to  heaven,  and  a  smile  of  matchlcsB 
sweetness  on  her  beautiful  lip".  With  a  groan  of 
n<,'ony  ho  seized  the  trembling  hunchback,  and,  dashing 
hbn  aside,  he  cried :  "  Wretch !  fiend  1  is  this  your 
work  ?    Is  this  the  way  you  have  robbed  me  of  her 

love  ? " 
A  hollow,  mocking  laugh  behind  him  turned  his 

blood  cold  in  his  veins. 

« YcB,  this  is  the  way  I  am  revenged ;  hero  is  the 
treasure  you  have  bought.     I  loved  hor  as  you  never 
dreamed  of  loving  her.     I  worshipped  her  ae  saints 
worship  the  Mother  of  God.    1  toiled  for  her  to  win 
wealth  and  honor,  that  she  might  share  it  with  me.     I 
steeped  my  hands  in  the  blood  of  a  fellow-creature, 
thinking  to  save  her  from  him,  and  you  were  the  one 
I  should  have  killed  ;  yon  were  the  one  who  stole  her 
love  from  me,  to  rnin  her  and  cast  her  aside  when  you 
were  weary  of  her.    To-night,  yon  wore  to  take  her 
from  me.     I  heard  your  honeyed  lies,  your  false  prom- 
ises, and  I  resolved  to  put  her  beyond  your  reach. 
The  last  face  she  saw  on  earth  was  mine,  her  last  smile 
was  for  me,  her  last  word  of  love  sounded  in  my  ear. 
Now  you  may  take  her  body,  for  her  soul  is  safe  with 
God  beyond  the  power  of  your  despoiling.    My  lily, 
my  white,  etaiuleas  lily,  you  will  live  in  paradise,  while 


m 


868 


THE  STATUE  OF  HEBE. 


the  wretch  that  would  have  mined  you  moans  in  tor- 
ment." 

There  were  voices  at  the  door,  some  one  was  enter- 
ing, and  Nordiskoff,  looking  as  through  a  thick  mist, 
saw  the  Duchess  of  Castellara,  pale,  wide-eyed,  and 
excited,  followed  by  Signora  Pia,  and  a  woman  in  the 
dress  of  a  nun. 

"  Where  is  she,  bring  her  to  me,"  cried  the  Duchess, 
looking  bewildered  at  the  group  around  the  conch. 
Then,  seeing  the  extended  form  of  the  girl,  with  a 
piercing  scream  she  sprang  forward  and  threw  herself 
on  her  knees,  pressing  her  lips  to  the  immobile  face, 
while  she  moaned,  "  My  child,  my  child." 

Counf  Valdimer  heard  no  more,  for  the  black  mist 
closed  around  him,  a  sound  like  many  waters  surged  in 
his  ears,  his  limbs  tottered  under  him,  and  fearing  that 
his  senses  were  deserting  him  he  gave  one  last  look  at 
the  beautiful  still  face,  and  then  fled  from  the  room, 
followed  by  the  frenzied  laugh  of  the  hunchback. 


>jy  HEBE. 

lined  you  moans  in  tor- 

>or,  some  one  was  enter- 
13  through  a  thick  mist, 
:a,  pale,  wide-eyed,  and 
?ia,  and  a  woman  in  the 

me,"  cried  the  Duchess, 
roup  around  the  conch. 
jrra  of  the  girl,  with  a 
rward  and  threw  herself 
>s  to  the  immobile  face, 
,  my  child." 

more,  for  the  black  mist 
iQ  many  waters  surged  in 
ier  him,  and  fearing  that 
he  gave  one  last  look  at 
then  fled  from  the  room, 
[1  of  the  hunchback. 


"il  OBUCE  8ALU8.» 


359 


CHAPTEK  XXin. 


"a  CKCCE  8ALUS.' 


[TIEN  Signora  Pia  left  the  Church  of  San 
Marco,  she  went  directly  to  the  Convent  of 
the  Sacred  Heart,  and  entering  the  public  re- 
ception-room she  asked  if  she  might  see  Sister  Prudenza 
immediately,  concerning  a  matter  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance. The  nun  in  attendance  demurred  at  first,  saying 
that  the  sister  was  very  weary  from  watching  all  night 
with  a  poor  sufferer,  but  finally,  on  seeing  how  anxious 
the  visitor  was,  she  summoned  her. 

When  Sister  Prudenza  entered  the  room,  Signora 
Pia  trembled  visibly,  and  her  voice  faltered  so  as  to  be 
hardly  audible  as  she  said,  "  I  have  something  of  im- 
portance to  communicate  to  you.  May  I  talk  with 
you  in  private  ? " 

"  Certainly,  my  friend,  come  into  this  inner  room," 
returned  the  nun  in  a  gentle,  pleasant  voice,  while  at 
the  same  time  she  studied  the  visitor's  face  closely. 

When  the  door  was  closed  and  the  two  were  alone, 
Signora  Pia  threw  aside  her  veil  and  said,  "  Sister 
Prudenza,  I  see  that  you  do  not  recognize  me." 

"  No,  I  cannot  remember  you,  though  your  face  and 


360 


"^  CBUCE  SALUSy 


voice  are  familiar,"  replied  the  nun  with  a  pnzzled, 
anxious  look. 

"  1  am  Pia  Passerelli." 

«AhI  Holy  Mother,  why  did  I  not  know  you  at 
lirst?  I  did  not  suppose  it  was  possible  to  forget  you, 
for  through  you  I  have  suffered  enough." 

«  Forgive  me,  sister,  I  was  not  to  blame ;  God  knows 

1  was  not." 

"Where  is  the  child  I  confided  to  your  care  as  a 

most  sacred  trust  % " 

«  She  is  living  and  well,  sister." 

«  And  why  have  you  kept  me  in  ignorance  of  her  all 

these  years  ? " 

«  Because  I  knew  not  of  her  whereabouts  myself." 

«  You  talk  in  riddles ;  I  pray  you,  speak  quickly  and 
clearly,  for  my  soul  is  full  of  impatience." 

«I  speak  the  truth,  sister;  I  have  but  to-day  dis- 
covered the  child." 

"  Then  you  lost  her  1 "  ' 

"  She  was  stolen  from  me." 

«  Then  why,  in  the  name  of  the  Blessed  Mother,  did 
you  not  tell  me?  Why  did  you  leave  me  all  these 
yeare  iu  such  dreadful  uncertainty?" 

"  I  feared  to  come  to  you  and  tell  you  that  I  had  lost 
the  child  through  disobeying  your  orders.  When  you 
gave  her  to  me,  you  forbid  my  ever  leaving  her  alone, 
you  made  me  promise  that  I  would  never  take  her 


'ALUSy 

\Q  nun  with  a  pnzzled, 


did  I  not  know  you  at 
18  possible  to  forget  you, 
d  enough." 
lot  to  blame ;  God  knows 

ifided  to  your  care  as  a 

ter." 

18  in  ignorance  of  her  all 

r  whereabouts  myself." 

ay  you,  speak  quickly  and 

impatience." 

;  I  have  but  to-day  dis- 


f  the  Blessed  Mother,  did 
1  you  leave  me  all  these 
tainty?" 

ud  tell  you  that  I  had  lost 

r  your  orders.    When  you 

ny  ever  leaving  her  alone, 

I  would  never  take  her 


«» A  CBUOE  SALUS."^ 


361 


beyond  the  city,  which  I  did  on  the  day  that  she  was 
stolen  from  mo.  I  went  into  the  country  to  see  my 
own  child,  who  was  ill,  and  returning  I  was  overcome 
with  fatigue  and  lost  consciousness  by  the  wayside. 
■\Vlien  I  recovered  the  babe  was  gone." 
"And  you  made  no  effort  to  find  her?" 
"  I  knew  not  what  to  do ;  my  own  abandoned  infant 
died,  and  I  was  half  insane.  So  I  left  Florence  and 
did  not  return  for  eight  years." 

"  And,  in  the  mean  time,  what  had  become  of  the 
child  I  intrusted  to  your  care  ? " 

"  A  lonely,  deformed  man,  living  in  a  little  cottage 
on  San  Miniato  found  me  unconscious  on  the  wayside, 
and,  believing  me  to  be  dead,  he  took  the  child  and 
carried  it  to  his  home,  where  he  reared  her  in  secret, 
carefully  and  tenderly,  loving  her  as  his  own  child, 
which  he  represented  her  to  be.  By  a  most  singular 
coincidence,  this  same  man,  when  I  retnrned  to  Flor- 
ence after  eight  years  of  wandering,  pitying  my  pov- 
ei-ty  and  forlorn  condition,  gave  me  a  home,  with  the 
child,  under  his  own  roof,  where  1  have  lived  ever 
since,  a  companion  and  mother  to  the  girl  who  has 
grown  up  a  very  tngel  of  goodness  and  beauty." 

"  Holy  Virgin  ;  this  is  a  strange  history,"  returned 

Sister  Prudenza,  crossing   herself  devoutly.      "And 

plainly  shows  a  Divine  Providence  in  its  mysterious 

ordering.    I  had  long  ago  ceased  to  believe  that  either 

16 


862 


•'^  VRUOE  SALTS." 


m 


ill 


I 


you  or  the  child  were  living.  After  your  disappear- 
ance, I  traced  you  to  the  country  place  you  visited,  and 
learned  there  that  a  woman  and  child  had  died  sud- 
denly. The  woman  answered  your  description,  and 
the  infant,  I  thought,  must  be  your  nursli.'ig." 

"  And  the  mother  of  the  babe,  did  she  believe  it  was 
dead?" 

"  Yes,  poor,  unhappy  young  creature,  I  thought  it 
best  to  represent  to  her  that  it  was  dead  beyond  a 
doubt,  for  I  feared  the  uncertainty  and  anxiety  would 
kill  her.  She  had  been  privately  married  and  had 
lost  her  husband  before  the  child  was  born,  therefore, 
it  seemed  advisable  to  set  her  mind  at  rest  on  that 
point,  for  she  had  trouble  enough  in  concealing  her 
sorrow  and  her  secret  from  her  father,  who  was  a 
stern,  tyrannical  man,  as  well  as  from  the  world,  that 
would  have  been  most  unmerciful  to  her.  She  came 
to  me  in  her  trouble,  for  she  was  educated  within  these 
sacred  walls,  and  I  have  been  like  a  mother  to  her. 
When  the  child  was  born  I  gave  it  to  you  to  be  nursed, 
thinking  that,  after  you  had  suffered,  and  I  had  be- 
friended you,  I  could  trust  it  with  you  more  safely 
than  with  any  other.  Then  think  of  my  bitter  sorrow 
and  disappointment  when,  after  a  few  weeks,  you  sud- 
denly disappeared  with  the  infant  I  had  confided  so 
Bolenmly  to  your  care." 

"  But  you  see,  Sister  Prudenza,  that  I  was  not  to 


After  your  disappear- 
y  place  you  visited,  and 
,nd  child  had  died  sud- 
.  your  description,  and 
your  nursling." 
e,  did  she  believe  it  was 

5  creature,  I  thought  it 
it  was  dead  beyond  a 
linty  and  anxiety  would 
^ately  married  and  had 
lild  was  born,  therefore, 
er  mind  at  rest  on  that 
ough  in  concealing  her 
her  father,  who  was  a 
as  from  the  world,  that 
iiful  to  her.  She  came 
ras  educated  within  these 
in  like  a  mother  to  her. 
/e  it  to  you  to  be  nursed, 
suffered,  and  I  had  be- 
t  with  you  more  safely 
link  of  my  bitter  sorrow 
er  a  few  weeks,  you  snd- 
infant  I  had  confided  so 

ienza,  that  I  was  not  to 


♦M  CRUCE  8ALUS." 


863 


blame  for  the  loss  of  the  babe,"  said  Signora  Pia, 
wiping  away  her  tears. 

"  Perhaps  not  for  the  misfortune  of  losing  the  child, 
but  you  were  to  blame  in  not  making  the  loss  known 
tj  me  at  the  time." 

"  Certainly  that  was  a  sin,  and  I  have  shed  tears 
enough  for  it  to  wash  it  away.  But  I  trust  it  is  not 
too  late  to  restore  the  girl  to  her  mother,  whom  I  hope 
is  still  living." 

"  Yes,  she  is  living,  and  she  is  free  now  to  acknowl- 
edge her  child  before  all  the  world,  for  her  father  is 
dead,  and  she  is  mistress  of  her  own  fortune.  She  is 
noble,  rich  and  honored,  but  she  is  unhappy.  Only 
yesterday  she  came  to  me  and  wept  here  on  my  bosom, 
which  has  always  been  her  refuge  in  trouble.  Her 
heart  is  empty,  for  she  has  neither  husband  nor  chil- 
dren, and  this  girl,  the  daughter  of  the  young  husband 
she  idolized,  will  cbmfort  her  desolate  soul." 

"  I  am  thankful  that  all  may  yet  be  well,  and  to 
show  my  gratitude  I  will  devote  my  life  to  the  blessed 
Virgin  more  faithfully  than  I  ever  have  done,"  re- 
turned Signora  Pia,  piously.  "  But  this  poor  man 
who  has  always  loved  the  girl,  and  has  now  come  to 
think  of  her  as  his  own,  and  who  has  been  so  good  to 
me,  my  heart  aches  for  him,  for  he  will  suffer  so  to 
lose  her,  and  to  lose  her  through  me." 

"  You  have  only  done  your  duty,"  replied  Sister 


364 


'A  CRUGE  SALU&" 


Prudenza,  "  and  you  could  do  no  less.  Now  come 
with  me  and  we  will  hasten  to  tell  the  mother  that  her 
child  is  living,  and  near  her,  that  she  may  embrace  her, 
and  hold  her  to  her  heart  at  once." 

When  the  carriage  containing  the  nun  and  Signora 
Pia  entered  the  court  of  the  Castellara  palace,  the 
poor  woman  was  in  a  tresTior  of  fear  ajid  excitement, 
for  the  splendor  impressed  her  to  such  a  degree  with 
the  wealth  and  power  of  the  mother  she  had  wn  iged, 
that  she  scarcely  dared  confess  her  fault  to  so  august 
a  personage ;  but  Sister  Prudenza  encouraged  her,  tell- 
ing her  that  the  lady  was  khid  and  gentle,  and  would 
readily  pardon  her  when  she  brought  her  such  good 
news  at  last. 

The  run  was  admitted  immediately  into  the  private 
apartment  of  the  Duc^hess  of  Castellara,  while  Signora 
Pia  waited  in  an  ante-room,  in  a  fever  of  suspense  and 
excitement.  She  dreaded  the  interview  with  this  great 
lady,  the  mistress  of  this  magnificent  palace,  and  she 
also  feared  the  furious  anger  of  Hugo  when  he  learned 
that  she  whom  he  trusted  had  betrayed  his  secret. 

At  length  the  door  opened  and  Signora  Pia  was 
summoned  into  the  presence  of  the  noble  lady.  With 
bent  head  and  humbly-folded  hands  she  followed  the 
servant;  and  when  she  raised  her  eyes  every  vestige 
of  color  fled  from  her  troubled  faco.  and  she  gasped, 
«  The  Duchess  of  Castellara  I " 


78." 

lo  less.  Now  come 
the  mother  that  her 
je  may  embrace  her, 

;he  nun  and  Signora 
istellara  palace,  the 
ear  and  excitement, 
>  such  a  degree  with 
er  she  had  wn  iged, 
er  fault  to  so  angust 
encouraged  her,  tell- 
d  gentle,  atid  would 
ight  her  such  good 

tely  into  the  private 
illara,  while  Signora 
sver  of  suspense  and 
•view  with  this  great 
lent  palace,  and  she 
igo  when  he  learned 
lyed  his  secret, 
d  Signora  Pia  was 
3  noble  lady.  With 
ds  she  followed  the 
r  eyes  every  vestige 
ICO.  and  she  gasped, 


'A  CRUCE  8ALU8." 


365 


At  the  same  moment  the  Duchess,  as  pale  and  star- 
tled as  the  woman  before  her,  looked  at  Sister  Prn- 
denza  and  exclaimed  :  "  Wliat  does  this  mean  ?  I  have 
seen  this  woman  before ;  she  is  Pia,  the  servant  of 
Hugo  the  artist ;  she  surely  cainiot  be  the  nurse  to 
whom  you  gave  my  child  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  same,  Signora  Duchess,"  said  the  woman, 
bowing  low  and  clasping  her  hands  entreatingly. 

"  And  my  child,  where  is  she  ?  Take  me  to  her  at 
once." 

"  She  is  at  home  in  the  Via  San  Gallo." 

"  My  God  1  she  cannot  be  Lisa,  the  hunchback's 
daughter?" 

"  Lisa  is  the  child  that  was  given  me  to  nurse,  and 
who  was  stolen  from  me  by  Hugo." 

"Holy  Mother!  how  I  am  punished,  what  a  fearful 
retribution  is  this  1"  cried  the  Duchess,  sinking  into  a 
chair  like  one  smitten  with  palsy. 

"  But  she  is  good  and  lovely,  Signora  Pia  tells  me, 
and  she  is  restored  to  you  safely ;  for  that,  you  should 
be  devoutly  thankful,"  said  Sister  Prudenza,  bending 
over  the  Duchess  and  stroking  her  hair  with  motherly 
tenderness. 

"  Lisa,  the  girl  I  have  despised  and  hated,  my  child, 
Challonner's  child,  my  husbimd's,  my  adored  husband's 
child,  and  I  have  seen  her  and  my  heart  did  not  tell  me 
that  she  was  mine  I    Oh  1  it  cannot  be  possible ;  there 


Il' 


11 


866 


•'-A  CRUCE  8ALV8.'' 


mnst  bo  some  mistake.    Tell  me  that  Lisa  is  not  my 

child  1 " 

Signora  Pia  atid  the  nun  looked  at  each  other  in 
astonishnieiit.  Instead  of  expressing  joy  at  the  recovery 
of  the  child,  she  seemed  to  regret  it.  What  could  it 
mean  ? 

«  Tell  me,"  continued  the  Dncliess,  "  that  you  are 
positive  there  can  be  no  mistake ;  that  this  girl  called 
Lisa  is  the  babe  who  was  born  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Sacred  Heart,  more  than  sixteen  years  ago,  and  that 
she  is  my  child,  and  no  other's.  Oh,  do  not  deceive  mo ; 
I  pray  you  give  me  some  proof  that  what  you  say  is 

true." 

"  This  may  convince  yon,"  said  Signora  Pia,  putting 
the  clasp  that  she  had  taken  from  Father  Ilario  into 
the  hand  of  the  Duchess ;  "  this  trinket  fastened  the 
child's  robe  when  I  took  her  from  Sister  Pradenza, 
and  it  was  stolen  with  her,  and  has  been  concealed 
ever  since  by  the  hunchback." 

«  Ah !  there  can  be  no  mistake ;  she  is  indeed  my 
child.  I  wore  this  clasp  during  my  own  babyhood  ;  it 
was  said  to  possess  a  charm  that  would  protect  the  in- 
fant who  wore  it  from  all  evil.  I,  with  ray  own  weak 
fingers,  fastened  it  in  the  child's  little  dress  when  she 
was  taken  from  me.  There  is  no  possibility  of  mistak- 
ing this;  it  has  belonged  to  our  family  for  conturios, 
and  it  has  the  Altimonti  legend  upon  it." 


hat  Lisa  is  not  my 

od  at  each  other  in 
)g  joy  at  the  recovery 
It  it.    What  could  it 

icliess,  "  that  you  are 
that  this  girl  called 

1  the  Convent  of  the 
years  ago,  and  that 

h,  do  not  deceive  me ; 

that  what  you  say  is 

Signora  Pia,  putting 
n  Father  Ilario  into 

trinket  fastened  the 
•om  Sister  Pradenza, 

has  been  concealed 

:e ;  she  is  indeed  my 
my  own  babyhood  ;  it 
would  protect  the  in- 
I,  with  ray  own  weak 
little  dress  when  she 
I  possibility  of  mistak- 
i-  family  for  conturios, 
ipon  it." 


"A  CRUOB  SALVS." 


867 


Then  she  started  np  wildly,  her  eyes  flaming,  her 
face  bnrning  with  vivid  red,  and  taking  Signora  Pia 
by  the  arm,  she  said  fiercely  :  "  You  told  me  she  was 
safe  in  the  Via  San  Gallo— is  it  true  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  highnoas,  she  is  there  ;  I  left  her  there 
but  a  few  hours  ago,  and  she  will  be  anxiously  await- 
ing my  return,"  replied  the  woman,  trembling  and 
shrinking  away  from  the  angry  eyes  of  the  Duchess. 

"  I  must  go  to  her  ;  ring  for  my  carriage.  Sister  Pru- 
donza.  I  must  go  at  once.  Oh !  Valdimer  NordiskofF, 
if  you  have  harmed  one  hair  of  her  head,  my  ven- 
geance will  be  terrible.     Bring  my  bonnet,  my  mantle 

I  am  going  out,"  she  said  as  her  maid  entered,  "  and 

make  ready  the  sleeping  apartment  next  to  mine,  for  I 
shall  bring  back  a  guest  with  mo."  Then  signing  for 
the  nun  and  Signora  Pia  to  follow  her,  she  hurried  out, 
beside  herself  with  impatience  and  eager  haste. 

During  the  short  distance  to  the  Via  San  Gallo,  she 
bade  the  driver  urge  his  horses  to  their  utmost  speed  ; 
seeming  forgetful  of  her  pride  and  self-control,  she 
wrung  her  hands  aiul  moaned,  «  Oh,  my  child  !  my  in- 
jured child,  how  can  I  ever  make  amends  for  my  sin, 
my  cruelty,  my  insensibility  ?  Why  did  not  my  heart 
tell  me  that  she  was  my  child  ?  Ah  1  now,  I  remember 
well  when  I  first  saw  her,  as  lovely  as  a  cherub,  sleeping 
on  the  altar  steps  at  San  Miniato,  how  the  deptlis  of 
my  soul  were  stirred  at  the  sight  of  her.    And  when  she 


868 


"^  OnUUK  8ALU8." 


raised  her  sweet  eyes  to  mine,  it  seemed  as  though  her 
father  Ux)ked  at  me  through  thein.  Then,  for  a  mo- 
ment, my  better  nature  spoke  to  mo ;  but  pride,  hate, 
and  revenge  drowned  its  gentle  voice,  a!id  I  went  out 
into  the  world  and  forgot  tlio  angel  that  had  smiled  on 
me." 

When  at  last  the  carriage  stopped  before  Hugo's 
door,  she  sprang  out  and  hurried  up  the  steps,  that  she 
had  mounted  so  many  times  with  weary,  indifferent  feet, 
as  though  she  scarcely  touched  them,  for  impatience 
gave  her  wings,  and  the  two  women  found  it  difficult 
to  keep  pace  with  her.  Signora  Pia  unlocked  the 
door  with  trembling  fingers,  and  in  an  instant  the 
Duchess  was  in  the  artist's  studio,  looking  with  wild 
eyes  and  bewildered  brain  on  the  senseless  form  of  the 
young  girl  extended  pale  and  cold  on  the  place  where 
the  statue  of  Hebe  had  always  stood. 

At  first,  the  Duchess  did  not  understand  what  had 
taken  place.  She  saw  Valdimer's  pale  and  horror- 
stricken  face  as  he  fled,  followed  by  Hugo's  frenzied 
laughter.  She  saw  the  couch  under  the  shadow  of  tlie 
crimson  curtain.  She  saw  the  rigid,  immobile  form  of 
the  girl  she  had  come  to  claim,  veiled  with  its  golden 
hair,  the  hands  clasped  over  the  breast,  the  eyes  closed, 
the  face  upturned  as  white  and  still  as  chiselled  mai^ 
ble.    She  saw  it  all,  and  yet  she  did  not  understand. 

Wheu  she  threw  herself  upon  her  knees,  and  cried, 


LUS." 

Bceinod  as  though  her 
iin.  Then,  for  a  mo- 
)  mo ;  but  prido,  hate, 

voice,  and  I  went  out 
gel  that  had  smiled  ou 

(topped  before  Hugo's 
1  up  the  steps,  that  she 
weary,  indifferent  feet, 
them,  for  impatience 
)men  found  it  difiicult 
lora  Pia  unlocked  the 
nd  in  an  instant  the 
idio,  looking  with  wild 
le  senseless  form  of  the 
)ld  on  tlie  place  where 
tood. 

understand  what  had 
ner's  pale  and  horror- 
ed  by  Hugo's  frenzied 
nder  the  shadow  of  tlie 
igid,  immobile  form  of 
veiled  with  its  golden 
breast,  the  eyes  closed, 
still  as  chiselled  mar* 
I  did  not  understand, 
n  her  knees,  and  cried, 


••il  ORUOB  8 ALUS." 


368 


"  Mv  child  !  My  child  1 "  and  there  was  no  response ; 
when  she  clasped  her  arms  around  her  and  there  was 
no  warmth  or  motion  ;  when  she  pressed  lier  lips  upon 
the  peaceful  fii<:e  and  there  was  no  Bmile  or  word,  then 
she  know  that  some  droad  caliimity  had  overtaken  her. 
"You  need  not  call  her,  she  wi,'  not  hear  you!" 
cried  Hugo,  with  a  iiondish  laugh.  "You  need  not 
embrace  lier,  for  she  is  as  cold  and  lifeless  as  tlio  mar- 
ble image  before  yon.  You  need  not  kiss  her,  she  will 
not  be  conscious  of  your  carcssos.  Love  and  scorn  aro 
the  same  to  her  now,  for  hIio  is  beyond  all  earthly  feel- 
ing." 

"My  Godl  you  cannot  mean  that     'ui  is  dead  I" 
cried  the  Duchess  in  an  agonized  voice. 

"  Yes,  she  is  dead.  I  killed  her  to  save  her  from 
ruin.  To  night  she  would  have  fleii  from  me  with  the 
man  who  jnst  looked  upon  her  for  the  last  time.  Ho 
deceived  her  with  his  honeyed  lies  until  she  was  ready 
to  desert  rae  for  him ;  ready  to  leave  the  one  that  wor- 
shipped her  for  a  .stranger— a  base,  bad  man.  All  have 
conspired  to  rob  me  of  her;  even  this  viper,  that  I 
warmed  at  my  fire,"  and  he  turned  his  frenzied  gaze 
upon  Signora  Pia,  who  stood  trembling  with  fear  and 
horror.  "  But  I  have  defrauded  you  of  your  triumph, 
I  have  sent  her  beyond  your  reach  ;  she  is  safe  from 
the  spoiler's  snare.  With  my  own  hand  I  gave  her 
the  draught  that  quenched  her  sweet  life.  She  smiled 
16* 


870 


"A  CRUCE  SALU8.» 


on  mo  when  slio   Irank  it,  and  called  me  father  with 
her  last  breatli." 

"  Demon  1  she  was  not  yonr  child!  Wretch  I  how 
dare  y;  >  take  her  from  me,  her  mother  1"  cried  the 
Dnrher*,  Bprinf^ii'f?  toward  the  wretched  creature  as 
thoiij.';ii  she  would  destroy  him  at  a  glance. 

"  Yon,  her  mother »  You  ?  "  said  the  hnnchbHck, 
slowly,  pressinjr  his  hands  to  his  lemplos  and  looking 
at  her  vaguely  \  ith  his  red,  wild  eyes.  "  You  are  the 
Duchess  of  Casiollara.  Ah!  I  remember,  now  ,  you 
are  Nemesis,  Neinesis,  and  you  have  come  to  itinish 
nio  ;  you  have  come  to  be  avenged  1 "  then  with  his 
haiida  outstretched  he  retreated  slowly  before  her,  as 
though  he  would  protect  himself  from  her  fury  until 
he  reached  the  door.  There  his  hands  dropped,  and, 
crouching  at  her  feet,  he  turned  his  haggard  face  up- 
ward while  a  strange  light  broke  over  it,  and  he  mur- 
mured, as  though  he  were  speaking  to  himself :  "  You 
were  the  Angel  of  the  Church,  you  saved  me  once, 
you  gave  me  this,"  drawing  the  ring  from  his  bosom 
and  pressing  it  to  his  lips  ;  "  and  you  told  me  if  I  ever 
needed  help  to  come  to  you.  I  need  it  now.  I  have 
long  needed  it,  and  I  come  ;  forgive  me,  save  me." 

"  Go,  leave  me,   murderer,  fiend !  I  fear  you  and 
I  will  Jiever  forgive  you,"  cried  the  Duchess  retreating 
from  him  in  horror. 
Then  the  light  faded  from  his  wan  face,  and  stag- 


iiiiaiiliiWim'iii''fe-' 


called  me  father  with 

chihl !    Wretch  1  how 
>r  motlier!"  cried  the 
wretched  creature  a» 
t  a  glance. 

'  said  the  hunchbick, 
is  (eniplos  and  looking 
Id  eyes.     "  You  are  the 
remember,  now     you 
have  come  to  j-'inish 
anged  1 "  then  with  his 
i  slowly  befoiv  her,  as 
3lf  from  her  fury  until 
lis  hands  dropped,  and, 
d  his  haggard  face  up- 
Ice  over  it,  and  he  mnr- 
dng  to  himself :  "  You 
li,  you  saved  me  once, 
a  ring  from  his  bosom 
id  you  told  mo  if  I  ever 
I  need  it  now.    I  have 
irgive  mo,  save  rao." 
fiend!  I  fear  you  and 
i  the  Duchess  retreating 

his  wan  face,  and  stag- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


V. 


/. 


i^id. 


f/. 


1.0 


I.I 


t   1^    12.0 


IM 

2.2 


-    6" 


1.8 


11.25  llil  1.4   i  1.6 


9 


/ 


& 


/a 


:>  .>^ 


L 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


.y 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


-IF ' -r  t«jrr«  •«  vfeWi  JS)K^«?»r  nw.i^MS'MTO^nBapf^y'^B^ 


fc 
^ 


I 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


^:- 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


"•j|j|jy}gags*;^.,jfei—  ■'-v.-' 


««il  GRUGE  SALUS:' 


371 


gering  to  his  feet  he  moaned,  « It  is  true— there  is 
no  mercy  for  me,  no  salvation— the  angel  of  compaa- 
Biou  has  changed  to  a  Nemesis,  and  I  am  doomed. 
My  Lisa,  farewell ;  I  would  have  repented,  so  that  I 
could  have  met  thee  again,  but  there  is  no  mercy  for 
me  ;  farewell  life,  farewell  hope,"  and  with  a  groan  ot 
heart-breaking  anguish,  he  opened  the  door  and  disap- 
peared from  their  sight,  his  haggard  face  wearing  the 
expression  of  utter  despa'r  and  hopeless  agony. 

When  he  had  gone,  the  Duchess  turned  again  to  the 
couch  where  Signora  Pia  and  the  nun  stood  weeping 
silently.  Kneeling  by  the  side  of  her  child,  the 
wretched  mother  looked  long  and  tenderly  into  her 
face,  as  though  she  were  seeking  to  discover  the  linea- 
ments of  the  one  she  had  loved  so  well,  and  said  be- 
tween her  broken  sobs : 

«  My  husband,  forgive  me,  for  I  knew  not  what  I 
did.  I  would  have  loved  her.  I  would  have  devoted 
my  life  to  her  had  she  not  been  taken  from  me. 
Sweet  victim !  you  have  been  sacrificed  for  the  sin, 
the  pride,  the  passion  of  those  who  should  have  loved 
and  protected  thee,  and  tears  and  prayers  of  penitence 
are  alike  useless  now." 

Lifting  the  heavy  veil  of  her  hair,  the  Duchess  laid 
her  face  on  the  quiet  bosom  of  her  child,  and  folding 
her  arms  around  her  as  though  she  would  keep  her  for- 
ever in  her  embrace,  prayed  silently. 


nltllalilCtMtrrtaillWlWri-''''  "*''*°'r~""  ,i,tni.-iiMi«i!aKtot^ 


372 


"^  CRUCE  8ALU8." 


Snddonly,  with  a  wild  cry,  she  Btrt.rted  up,  and  seiz- 
ing Sister  Prndenza  by  the  arm,  she  said:  "  Listen  and 
tell  me  if  her  heart  beats,  for  I  am  sure  I  felt  the 
faintest  pulsation."  »  r   -  1.  * 

The  nun  placed  her  ear  against  the  girl's  bosom  and 
listened  intently  ;  for  a  moment  there  was  deep  silence, 
the  mother  and  Signora  Pia  standing  with  bated 
breath  and  compressed  lips. 

"  Ah !  yes,  she  breathes,  her  heart  flutters  feebly, 
she  is  not  dead,"  cried  Sister  Prudenza.  "  She  is  in  a 
state  of  syncope,  and  life  has  not  left  her." 

"  Go  quickly  for  a  doctor — go,  Signora  Pia,  and  if 
we  can  save  her  I  will  serve  God  as  I  never  have  be- 
fore," and  the  Duchess  seized  the  woman's  hand  and 
hurried  her  to  the  door.  H>r*»:.^  •m     ns  f.r 

Then  she  lifted  the  heavy  head  of  the  girl  and  laid 
it  on  her  bosom,  while  she  and  the  nun  chafed  the 
wrists  and  temples,  which  were  as  cold  as  marble 
under  their  touch. 

Signora  Pia's  feet  must  have  had  wings  on  that 
occasion,  for,  before  they  had  dared  expect  her,  she  re- 
turned with  a  doctor,  who  said  at  once  that  there  was 
both  life  and  hope. 

The  deadly  draught  had  but  half  done  its  work ;  the 
wretched  hunchback  was  not  skilled  in  the  use  of  poi- 
sons, and  he  had  given  an  overdose  that  resulted  in  the 
appearance  of  death  only,  for  in  less  than  an  hour, 


8ALU3." 

,  she  Bti^rted  up,  and  seiz- 
rra,  she  said:  "  Listen  and 
for  I  am  sure  I  felt  the 

jainst  the  girl's  bosom  and 
ent  there  was  deep  silence, 
:*ia  standing  with    bated 

her  heart  flnttere  feebly, 
•  Prudenza.  "  She  is  in  a 
}  not  left  her." 
— go,  Signora  Pia,  and  if 
B  God  as  I  never  have  be- 
)d  the  woman's  hand  and 

head  of  the  girl  and  laid 
and  the  nun  chafed  the 
were  as  cold  as  marble 

have  had  wings  on  that 
i  dared  expect  her,  she  re- 
lid  at  once  that  there  was 

ut  half  done  its  work ;  the 
>t  skilled  in  the  use  of  poi- 
rerdose  that  resulted  in  the 
for  in  less  than  an  hour, 


'A   CRUCE  SALU8." 


ms 


under  the  judicious  treatment  of  the  physician,  Lisa 
breathed  softly,  and  opened  her  sweet  eyes  upon  the 
happy  face  of  her  mother,  who  bent  over  her. 

«  Thank  God,  she  is  saved,"  cried  the  Duchess,  fall- 
ing on  her  knees  in  an  ecstasy  of  happiness  and  grati- 
tude. 

When  the  wretched  hunchback  rushed  away  from 
the  anger  of  Nemesis,  he  had  but  one  desire  in  his 
despairing,  hopeless  soul,  and  that  was  to  reach  the 
river,  where  he  could  find  speedy  oblivion  and  relief 
from  the  anguish  that  was  consuming  him. 

With  wild,  burning  eyes,  and  clenched  hands,  he 
rushed  on  through  the  familiar  streets,  down  the  Lung' 
Arno,  by  the  palaces  and  squares,  among  the  gay  crowd 
that  turned  and  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  but  no 
friendly  hand  was  outstretched  to  save  him.  "  To  the 
river,  to  the  river,"  seemed  to  sound  in  his  ears  like 
roaring  torrents.  «To  the  river,"  the  people  seemed 
to  shout  as  he  dashed  by:  the  wind  that  smote  his 
cheek  seemed  to  hiss,  «To  the  river."  On  the  pave- 
ment under  his  feet,  on  the  heavens  above  him,  was 
written  in  letters  of  fire,  «  To  the  river,  to  the  river." 

And  so  he  went  on  and  on,  until  the  peaceful,  wind- 
ing Arno  reached  out  her  arms  for  him,  and  with  one 
dull,  heavy  splash  he  was  folded  in  her  embrace  and  at 
rest  forever. 
The  next  morning  they  found  him  floating  among 


jiKDimKaKacliir  r  •nmmmtn'l^tfVfT'-  ■^■•^^•■'^'eshixiMmirka.  niirMnstmi^insem^' ' 


sn 


ENRICO' 8  REWARD. 


tho  piers  of  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  The  bridge  where  he 
had  made  his  first  venture  in  life  finished  all  his  woes 
and  disappointments. 

"  It  is  lingo,  the  sculptor,"  said  one  of  the  bystandei-s, 
as  they  drew  his  deformed  body  out  of  the  water  and 
laid  it  on  the  bank  for  a  curious  crowd  to  gaze  at. 
"His  prosperity  must  have  turned  his  brain,  for  he 
was  to  receive  ten  thousand  scudi  for  a  statue  of 
Ilcbe." 

"  Madre  di  Dio,  and  he  has  drowned  himself.  Of 
couree  he  was  mad." 

Tightly  clasped  in  one  stiff  hand  was  a  gold  ring 
with  a  coronet  and  the  legend  "  a  cruoe  scUus." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ENBIOO'S  KEWAKD. 

RN  a  garden  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  villas 
on  the  lake  of  Como,  two  ladies  were  slowly 
walking  back  and  forth  among  the  roses  and 
jasmines,  shaded  by  the  fragrant  branches  of  the 
orange  and  myrtle,  that  extended  protectingly  over 
them. 


ARD. 

The  bridge  whore  he 
B  finished  all  his  woes 

one  of  the  bystandera, 

out  of  the  water  and 

)U8  crowd  to  gaze  at. 

led  his  brain,  for  he 

wudi  for  a  statue  of 

h'owned  himself.    Of 

land  was  a  gold  ring 
J,  cruoe  solus" 


XIV. 


aiD. 


3  most  beautiful  villas 
two  ladies  were  slowly 
\i  among  the  roses  and 
rant  branches  of  the 
ded  protectingly  over 


ENRICO'S  REWARD. 


879 


One  was  not  far  from  middle  life,  the  other  in  the 
Hi-st  flush  of  youth  and  beauty;  the  elder  was  a  tall, 
queenly  woman,  with  glorious  dark  eyes,  rich  golden 
hair,  a  soft  pale  skin,  and  a  mouth  of  exquisite  loveli- 
ness, around  which  lingered  a  sad  smile.  The  younger 
was  slight  and  fair,  with  blue  eyes,  complexion  of  trans- 
parent whiteness,  and  hair  as  light  as  the  silken  tassels 

of  corn. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  judge  that  the  relationship 
between  them  was  that  of  mother  and  daughter,  e\-en  if 
one  had  not  overheard  their  conversation,  for  the  girl 
clung  affectionately  to  her  companion,  who  walked 
with  her  arm  around  her  in  a  tender,  protecting  man- 
ner. 

The  morning  was  lovely,  the  blue  and  cloudless  sky 
was  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  lake,  the  magnolia, 
orange,  and  acacia  dipped  their  odorous  branches  in 
the  gentle,  rippling  waves  that  washed  the  flowery 
banks.  The  marble  steps  of  the  villa,  the  urns  of 
blooming  flowers,  the  winged  doves,  the  stately,  slender 
columns,  all  were  repeated  again  and  again  on  the 
sapphire-like  surface  of  the  fairest  sheet  of  water  in 
the  world ;  while  the  mountains  and  olive-crowned 
hills  stood  around  like  watchful  sentinels,  with  linked 
hands,  keeping  guard  over  a  precious  jewel. 

« Oh,  mamma  1  is  not  nature  perfect ;  does  it  not 
satisfy  one  fully?"  said  the  girl  in  a  clear,  happy 


1 


■  ^lAWWMKfftMHHKl 


I 


376 


ENRICO'S  BE  WARD. 


voice,  while  lier  admiring  eyes  drank  in  the  scene  be- 
fore her. 

«  Yes,  my  Lisa,  it  leaves  us  nothing  to  desire,  and 
it  never  disappoints  and  deceives  us ;  it  is  always  sin- 
cere and  truthful,  no  matter  what  its  mood  may  be. 
We  can  worship  it  without  fear,  we  can  turn  to  it  in 
sorrow,  and  it  always  consoles  us.  It  is  God's  own 
handiwork,  therefore  it  must  be  good." 

« I  used  to  dream  of  such  a  picture  as  this,  hour 
after  hour,  when  I  was  sitting  in  the  dreary  studio  in 
the  Via  San  Gallo,"  said  the  girl  with  a  soft  sigh ;  "  and 
wish  I  had  wings  that  I  might  fly  to  such  a  spot,  and 

never  leave  it." 

«  Poor  child,  you  were  little  better  than  a  prisoner 
then,  and  those  four  gloomy  walls  were  your  prison ; 
but  it  is  over,  and  you  must  not  think  any  more  of  it, 
my  darling." 

"  But  papa  was  good  to  me." 

«  Pray  do  not  say  *  papa ; '  it  hurts  me  to  hear  you, 
and  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  forget  the  unfortu- 
nate creature  who  wronged  you  so." 

"I  cannot,  mamma,  if  I  desired  to.  Only  think 
for  how  many  years  he  was  all  I  had  in  the  world  to 
love ;  why,  there  is  not  a  day  that  I  do  not  remember 
some  little  act  of  tenderness  and  patient  self-denial 

toward  me." 
«  For  his  care  of  you  I  owe  him  a  debt  of  gratitude ; 


rARD. 

drank  in  the  scene  be- 
nothing  to  desire,  and 
'C8  us ;  it  is  always  siii- 
rhat  its  mood  may  be. 
ir,  we  can  turn  to  it  in 
I  us.  It  is  God's  own 
)  good." 
a  picture  as  this,  hour 

in  the  dreary  studio  in 
1  with  a  soft  sigh;  "and 

fly  to  such  a  spot,  and 

)  better  than  a  prisoner 
^alls  were  your  prison  ; 
ot  think  any  more  of  it, 


it  hurts  me  to  hear  you, 
a  to  forget  the  unfortu- 
u  so." 

desired  to.    Only  think 

11 1  had  in  the  world  to 

that  I  do  not  remember 

and  patient  self-denial 

him  a  debt  of  gratitude ; 


ENRIC&8  REWARD. 


hut  the  memory  of  his  sin,  and  his  dreadful  intention 
to  take  your  precious  life,  tills  me  with  horror  when  I 

think  of  it." 

"  But  remember,  mamma,  that  he  was  not  in  his 
right  mind ;  he  was  insane,  or  he  never  would  have 
harmed  a  hair  of  my  head.  Do  not  speak  bitterly  of 
him,  he  was  so  unfortunate,  and  he  suffered  so  much. 
Poor,  unhappy  soul  1  I  trust  at  the  last  that  God  for- 
gave him,  for  ho  died  with  your  ring  clasped  in  his 
hand,  as  though  he  found  some  hope  in  the  legend  to 
comfort  him  in  his  hour  of  supreme  agony." 

"Sweet  child,  your  gentle  nature,  your  generous 
heart,  can  find  excuse  and  forgiveness  for  all  who  have 
wronged  you,"  and  the  Duchess  of  Castellara  stooped 
and.  pressed  her  lips  fondly  to  her  daughter's  cheek. 

«  It  is  because  I  am  so  happy  now,  mamma.  God 
has  been  so  good  to  me,  then  why  should  I  not  be  good 
to  those  who  have  sinned  and  suffered,  for  all  who  sin 
must  endure  some  punishment  as  a  penalty  for  dis- 
obeying their  own  conscience,  and  forgetting  their 
sacred  duty.  Now  that  my  trouble  is  over,  and  1  can 
look  calmly  on  the  past,  I  know  that  I  was  a  great 
sinner  in  my  love  for  Valdimer— for  Count  Nordiskoff 
—for  I  deceived  the  one  who  was  a  father  to  me,  who 
trusted  and  loved  me  ;  T  concealed  the  truth  from  him, 
and  allowed  myself  to  be  over-persuaded,  when  in  my 
heart  I  felt  that  it  was  all  wrong;  but  I  loved  him, 


vfs^e^sntf-t- 


378 


ENUICaS  REWARD. 


mamma,  oh  1  I  Ic.ved  him !  rtuI  wlien  I  hoard  h.8 
voice  it  Boomed  as  tliouj^h  an  aii-el  Bi)()ko  to  mo,"  and 
Li.a  turned  away  hor  head  to  hide  hor  dim  eyes  and 
Unshod  face  from  hor  mother's  searching  gazo. 

«  IIo  was  a  falrto,  bad  man,  my  child,  and  your 
greatest  enemy.  1  hope  that  yon  have  driven  him  en- 
tirely from  your  heart,  and  that  yon  love  him  no 
more,"  said  the  Duchess,  sternly. 

"  Ahl  mamma,  you  know  that  I  despise  him  now  as 
mnch  as  I  loved  him  once.  But,  can  you  blame  me 
for  trusting  him  thenl" 

"No,  my  Lisa,  I  cannot,  for  I  once  trusted  him  my- 
self ;  and  if  ho  could  deceive  me,  how  much  easier  it 
was  to  gain  a  conquest  over  your  innocence  and  youth, 
pcx>r  child !  You  know  so  little  of  the  world,  you  wore 
BO  inexperienced  and  confiding,  that  his  sin  in  deceiv- 
ing yon  was  greater  thati  though  you  had  been  older 
and  more  worldly  wise." 

"Then  you  forgive  me,  mamma?  I  have  always 
wanted  to  ask  yon  to  pardon  me  for  the  sin  of  decep- 
tion, yet  I  daro  not  speak  of  it  to  you ;  but  now  I  may 
know  that  you  forgive  me  and  trust  me,  may  I  not?  " 
«  Yes,  my  darling,  I  forgave  you  long  ago ;  for  your 
.  fault  was  but  the  result  of  your  inexperience,  and  I 
could  not  withhold  my  pardon  from  you  when  I  had 
80  much  to  blame  myself  for." 

"Hush!  mamma  dear,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  find 


WARD. 

Riul  wlien  I  hoard  his 
ii-ijel  Bpoko  to  mo,"  imd 
hide  hor  dun  oycs  and 
searching  gazo. 
II,  my  child,  and  your 
?ou  have  driven  him  en- 
that  yon   love  him   no 

iftt  I  despise  him  now  as 
3ut,  can  you  bhvme  me 

I  once  trusted  him  my- 
me,  how  much  easier  it 
iiir  innoctnco  and  youth, 
le  of  the  world,  you  wore 
g,  that  his  sin  in  deceiv- 
)ngh  yon  had  been  older 

lamma?  I  have  always 
me  for  the  sin  of  decop- 
t  to  you ;  but  now  I  may 
i  trust  me,  may  I  not  ? " 
e  you  long  ago ;  for  your 
your  inexperience,  and  I 
)n  from  you  when  I  had 

cannot  allow  you  to  find 


KNlilCOfS  REWARD. 


370 


fault  with  yourself.  Your  gcK)dnoBB  to  mo  now  more 
than  atones  for  all  crrore  of  the  past.  God  kept  mo 
Hufely  for  you,  and  my  fortunate  deliverance  from  a 
great  danger  has  taught  mo  to  bo  always  truthful  and 
honest  to  those  who  have  the  right  to  my  confidence." 

"  1  am  glad  to  hear  these  words,  my  child,  for  I  have 
sometimes  feared  that  you  might  keep  your  tnost 
sacred  feelings  hidden  from  mo,  that  yon  might  con- 
ceal some  of  your  inner  life  from  the  eyes  that  would 
read  your  heart  as  an  open  book." 

"  Nay,  mamma,  there  is  nothing  that  I  would  keep 

from  yon." 
"  No  regret  for  the  past— no  desire  for  the  future? " 
"I>o  you  moan  in  regard  to  Count  NordiskofE? 
Ah !  mamma,  my  only  regret  is  that  1  over  saw  him — 
that  I  was  foolish  enough  to  have  loved  him;  but, 
believe  me,  it  is  all  over,  and  I  have  no  other  desire" 
for  the  future  than  to  love  you  and  to  devote  my  life 

to  you." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that,  among  all  the  handsome 
vonnt'  nobles  who  would  win  your  heart  and  hand, 
that  there  is  none  you  care  for  ?  " 

« None,  mamma.  They  are  all  kind  and  good  to 
me,  because  I  am  your  daughter;  they  admire  mo, 
because  I  am  a  little  like  you  ;  that  is  all ;  but  I  care 
no  more  for  one  than  another." 

"How  is  that,  my  Lisa?     You   are  young,  rich, 


1 


ftl^*»^»*^-i'^^B**'^*Kfe'»SW«IS©«*«*<'=-^  «»»*wr«(W^*- 


880 


ENIlWaa  REWARD. 


and  lovely,  and,  during  the  two  yoare  tlait  you  l.avo 
boon  under  my  caro,  you  have  worked  8o  hard  to  im- 
prove yourself,  that  there  are  few  girls  of  your  age 
more  accomplished  and  intelligent;  therefore,  you 
already  have  many  suitors  to  whom  I  must  give 
some  reason  for  refusing.     What  can  I  say  to  them, 

pray?"  .- 

«  Tell  them  that  I  love  my  mamma  too  well  to  leave 
her,"  returned  the  girl,  laughing  and  clinging  fondly 
to  her  mother's  arm. 

"Sweet  flatterer  1  that  is  no  reason  at  all.  Your 
love  for  me  will  not  prevent  you  from  loving  your 

husband." 

"But  1  will  have  no  hnsband,"  cried  the  girl  with  a 
startled  look.    "  Oh,  mamma,  why  must  I  think  of  such 
a  thing,  why  caimot  I  remain  with  you  and  be  happy « " 
«  Yon  can,  my  sweet  darling,  if  you  wish  to,  and 
your  mother,  who  has  hei-self  suffered  bo  deeply,  will 
never  force  you  to  wed  against  your  inclination.    But 
I  have  had  a  proposal  for  your  hand,  a  written  pro 
posal ;  it  came  yesterday,  a  large  important  letter  from 
Florence,  and  I  must  prepare  to  answer  it.    In  fact, 
my  dear,  your  Cousin  Enrico  comes  this  very  day  to 

receive  the  answer,"  and  the  Duchess  fixed  her  eyes 

steadily  on  the  face  of  her  daughter. 

"  Cousin  Enrico  is  coming  for  the  answer  1    Why, 

what  has  he  to  do  with  it,  pray  \ "  said  Lisa  in  a  trem- 


WARD. 

vo  yoan  that  you  Imvo 
)  worked  so  hard  to  iiu- 
fow  girls  of  your  b^'o 
IHgont;  therefore,  you 
to  whom  I  must  give 
^hat  can  I  say  to  thcui, 

namma  too  well  to  leave 
ing  and  clinging  fondly 

ao  reason  at  all.    Your 
X  you  from  loving  your 

id,"  cried  the  girl  with  a 
why  must  I  think  of  such 
with  you  and  be  happy  "i " 
ing,  if  you  wish  to,  and 
f  snffered  bo  deeply,  will 
ist  your  inclination.     But 
•our  hand,  a  written  pro- 
irge  important  letter  from 
re  to  answer  it.    In  fact, 
;o  comes  this  very  day  to 
le  Duchess  fixed  her  eyes 
aughter. 

ig  for  the  answer  I    Why, 
ray  ? "  said  Lisa  in  a  trem- 


ESRICO'H  HE  WARD. 


881 


ulous  voice,  while  a  fl<H)d  of  crimson  swept  over  her 
Bwcc't  face.    "  Oli,  mainuia,  does  ho  wish  mo  to  marry  ? " 

"  Yc8,  my  child, your  cousin  wishes  it;  ho  thinks  tliis 
offer  is  in  every  way  eligible,  IIo  is  well  acquainted 
with  the  character  of  the  gentleman  who  woidd  win 
your  love,  and  he  knows  him  to-  bo  good  and  noble, 
worthy  of  you  in  every  respect,  and  beside,  my  dear, 
this  suitor  has  loved  you  for  a  long  time." 

"  How  can  that  be,  mammal  I  know  no  one  among 
your  friends  who  ever  saw  me  until  I  came  to  live  with 
you,  excepting  Cousin  Enrico.  Then  how  is  it  possible 
that  this  person  has  loved  mo  for  a  long  time,  as  you 
say?"  ■  :    -^  -■^-  -^- 

"  It  is  a  romance,  my  Lisa ;  he  saw  you  in  church 
mid  was  so  impressed  with  your  beauty  that  he  went 
many  times,  and  watched  you  unobserved,  for  ho  was 
too  noble  and  honorable  to  annoy  you  with  attentions, 
that  in  your  position,  at  that  time,  could  only  have 
been  an  injury  to  you." 

"  And  you  know  him,  mamma  ? " 

"Yes,  well,  he  is  my  best  friend." 

"And  is  it  your  wish  that  1  should  become  his 
wife?" 

"  It  is,  my  darling." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  what  cay  I  do  ?  I  wish  to  obey  j'ou. 
I  should  like  to  please  Cousin  Enrico,  if  he  wishes 
it;    but  I  cannot,  indeed,  1  cannot  promise  you  to 


382 


ENRICO'S  REWAllD. 


marry  a  person  I  do  not  know  nor  love."    And  the 
girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  while  a  sob  choked  her 

voice. 

«  My  dear  child,  have  I  not  said  that  you  shall  not 
marry  him  unless  you  love  him  ?  Wheii  yon  know 
him,  and  he  has  tried  to  win  you,  then  you  may  de- 
cide, and  whatever  you  wish,  the  mother  who  loves 
you  will  consent  to;  bo  wipe  away  your  tears ^and  be 
happy,  and  we  will  think  of  some  way  to  defer  the 
answer  to  Cousin  Enrico." 

~~  «  Why  does  he  send  Cousin  Enrico  ?  Why  does  he 
not  come  himself?  I  did  not  think  my  cousin  would 
wish  me  to  marry.  Oh,  mamma,  are  you  sure  he  wishes 
it  ? "  asked  Lisa  with  another  sob. 

"  Quite  sure,"  returned  the  Duchess,  looking  again 
earnestly  into  her  daughter's  grieved,  tearf  id  face ;  theu, 
stooping,  she  drew  her  to  her  breast  and  said,  in  a  voice 
of  infinite  tenderness :  "  My  sweet  child,  did  you  not 
but  just  now  tell  me  that  your  heart  was  like  an  open 
book  before  me  ?  and  yet  you  are  keeping  something 
hidden ;  you  love  some  one,  and  you  will  not  confess  it 
to  your  mother." 

"  Oh !  mamma,  how  can  you  say  so  ? "  cried  Lisa, 
her  face  covered  with  vivid  blushes.  "  Who  could  I 
love  beside  you?    You  make  me  unhappy  when  you 

doubt  me." 

"  Ah !  here  comes  Enrico,"  said  the  Duchess,  look- 


WAliD. 

V  nov  love."    And  the 
liile  a  sob  choked  her 

said  that  you  shall  not 
:in?  Wheii  yon  know 
you,  then  you  may  de- 
the  mother  who  loves 
away  your  tears  ^and  be 
some  way  to  defer  the 

Enrico  ?    Why  does  he 
think  my  cousin  would 
a,  are  you  sure  he  wishes 
lob. 

Duchess,  looking  again 
ieved,  tearf id  face ;  then, 
)rea8t  and  said,  in  a  voice 
sweet  child,  did  you  not 
•  heart  was  like  an  open 
I  are  keeping  something 
id  you  will  not  confess  it 

ou  say  so?"  cried  Lisa, 
blushes.  "  Who  could  I 
i  me  unhappy  when  you 

"  said  the  Duchess,  look- 


ENIilGO'S  ME  WARD. 


383 


ing  up  from  her  daughter's  agitated  face,  as  the  quick, 
eager  steps  of  some  one  approaching  sounded  on  her 
ear.     "  Go,  Lisa,  and  meet  him." 

"  Pray  excuse  me,  mamma,  and  allow  me  to  go  to 
Signora  Pia.  I  will  return  again  in  a  few  moments," 
and  the  girl  darted  away  with  averted  face,  just  as 
Count  Altimonti  appeared  from  behind  a  clump  of 
trees. 

The  Duchess  looked  after  her  daughter  and  smiled 
a  little  sadly,  as  she  said,  in  a  low  voice :  "  Sweet  child, 
she  does  not  know  her  own  heart ;  but  I  have  probed 
it  until  I  have  discovered  her  secret.  She  loves  the 
one  who  loves  her,  and  she  shall  be  happy."  Then 
she  turned,  with  a  cordial  greeting,  to  welcome  her 
cousin.      ■•  -^ -'  .■■^.'   '/:"'''..:'-   .  V.  v"      "^■„'- 

"  Ah  !  Enrico,  you  are  here,  and  quite  as  impatient 
as  a  young  lover."         ^ 

"Yes,  cousin,  I  am  impatient,  now  that  the  time  has 
come  when  I  can  speak.  Have  I  not  waited  long 
enough,  and  have  I  not  given  the  sweet  child  time  to 
forget  the  past,  and  to  become  acquainted  with  her 
own  heart  ? " 

"  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  you,  Enrico  ;  you  have 
been  very  patient,  and  you  certainly  deserve  your  re- 
ward." 

"  Tell  me,  cousin,  do  you  think  she  loves  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  ask  her  the  direct  question,  1  thought 


miliKii  ■VfriliTi  rfi-  rf-  -  ■. 


384 


ENRICO'S  REWARD. 


you  would  prefer  to  do  that,  yoursdf ;  but  I  have 
learned  enough  to  give  you  hope." 

«  Ah,  I  need  eucourageinent,  Duchess,  for  I  some- 
times think  it  impossible  that  one  so  young  and  lovely 
can  prefer  a  serious,  elderly  individual  like,  myself,  to 
younger  and  handsomer  men." 

'  "With  false,  base  hearts  1"  returned  the  Duchess, 
bitterly.  "  If  Lisa  did  not  understand  and  appreciate 
your  noble  soul,  she  would  be  no  daughter  of  mine, 
and  1  should  not  consider  her  worthy  of  your  devo- 
tion." 

«  That  you  are  willing  to  give  your  treasure  into  my 
keeping,  is  sufficient  proof  of  your  estimation  of  my 
character.  I  need  not  say  how  I  shall  strive  to  make 
her  happy,  how  I  shall  devote  my  life  to  her." 

«  I  have  no  fear  for  her  future  if  you  share  it,  Enrico. 
I  love  my  child,  and  I  am  anxious  that  her  happiness 
shall  not  be  shipwrecked  as  mine  was.    Now,  I  live 
but  for  her,  and  next  to  her  you  are  the  dearest  friend 
I  have  on  earth ;  then,  what  can  give  me  more  happi- 
ness than  to  see  her  your  wife?     And,  when  this  is 
accomplished,  I  shall  devote  ray  wealth  and  time  to 
the  work  of  our  Blessed  Saviour,  to  whom  I  vowed 
myself  when  I  knelt  by  my  nuconscious  child  and  im- 
plored Him  for  her  life.     I  must  redeem  that  vow, 
Enrico,  and  also  make  some  atonement  for  my  sinfully 
Bquandered  yeare.    Thei-e  is  much  for  me  to  do,  and  I 


VARI). 
yonrs'ilf ;  but  I  have 

3." 

,  Duchess,  for  I  some- 
ne  so  young  and  lovely 
lividual  like  myself,  to 

returned  the  Duchess, 

ierstand  and  appreciate 

no  daughter  of  mine, 

worthy  of  your  devo- 

'e  your  treasure  into  my 
your  estimation  of  my 
w  I  shall  strive  to  make 
my  life  to  her." 
re  if  you  share  it,  Enrico, 
xious  that  her  happiness 
nine  was.    Now,  1  live 
au  are  the  dearest  friend 
an  give  me  more  happi- 
ife?     And,  when  this  is 
my  wealth  and  time  to 
lour,  to  whom  I  vowed 
uconscious  child  and  im- 
muBt  redeem  that  vow, 
tonement  for  my  sinfully 
nuch  for  me  to  do,  and  I 


ENRICO'S  REWARD. 


385 


would  be  about  my  Master's  business.  Then,  take  my 
child,  and  may  God  deal  with  you  as  you  deal  with 
her." 

"  Thank  you,  cousin,  with  all  my  soul ;  this  is  the 
happiest  day  of  my  life,"  said  Eni-ico,  gratefully  kiss- 
ins:  the  beautiful  hand  of  the  Duchess. 

"  Kovv  let  us  speak  of  the  practical.  My  Lisa  will  be 
rich,  for  her  right  to  her  fatlier's  property  in  England 
has  been  established,  and  she  will  have  that,  besides 
what  comes  to  her  from  my  father's  estate,  but  my 
dower  riffht  to  the  Castellara  wealth  I  shall  reserve 
for  a  work  of  charity.  Enrico,  I  will  tell  you  of  my 
dearest,  most  sacred  wish,  and  I  shall  claim  your  assist- 
ance in  carrying  it  out.  It  is  this :  I  desire  to  found 
an  asylum  for  deformed,  friendless  children.  You 
remeuiber  the  ten  thousand  scudi  that  poor  Hugo  was 
paid  for  the  statue  of  Hebe,  and  which  was  found  in 
his  studio  after  his  death  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it,  and  it  was  entrusted  to  Father 
Ilario  for  some  good  work." 

"  Well,  Father  Ilario  agrees  with  me  that  it  cannot 
be  used  for  a  more  worthy  charity  than  this  of  which 
1  speak,  and  I  am  sure  if  the  unfortunate  himchback 
could  express  a  desire  he  would  also  consent  to  our 
using  it  for  such  a  noble  purpose." 

"  And  this  is  the  good  work  to  which  you  would 

dedicate  your  wealth  and  the  remainder  of  your  life  ? 
17 


386 


ENRICO'S  REWARD. 


Ah !  my  cousin,  I  knew  you  had  a  great  and  generotia 
heart,  and  1  will  help  you  with  all  my  soul." 

"  Enrico,  if  I  devote  all  the  future  that  God  gives 
me  on  earth— all  my  means  and  energies  in  His  ser- 
vice, and  for  the  good  of  the  poor  and  suffering,  I 
cannot  half  atone  for  the  folly  and  sin  of  my  past.  I 
know  now  how  wrong  it  all  was,  my  love  for  Valdimcr 
Nordiskoff,  my  hate  for  my  hnsband,  and  anger  against 
my  father.  All !  I  would  not  have  suffered  so  much 
had  I  forgiven  him  before  he  died,  and  received  his 
blessing.  But  it  is  too  late  to  regret.  I  trust  in  eternity 
■we  may  be  united  as  we  never  were  on  earth.  In  my 
bitterness  and  despair  at  the  loss  of  Valdimer's  love  I 
almost  cursed  God.  Now,  I  see  how  a  Divine  Provi- 
dence was  my  friend  through  all,  and  how  I  was  saved 
from  a  misery  too  great  to  think  of  without  shudder- 
ing. There  is  one  thing,  my  cousin,  that  I  should  like 
to  ask  you,  before  I  dismiss  this  subject  forever.  Do 
you  know  anght  of  Count  Nordiskoff  ?  " 

«  He  is  in  Paris.  I  heard  of  him  quite  accidentally, 
a  few  weeks  ago ;  he  is  living  a  gay  and  reckless  life 
among  the  heartless  and  fashion  able,  and  he  will  never 
return  to  Italy  ;  for  I  am  told  that  he  holds  the  coun- 
try and  the  Italian  people  in  horror,  and  turns  quite 
pale  and  ill,  if  by  chance  he  meets  any  one  he  for- 
merly knew  in  Florence;  and  that  no  one  can  induce 
him  even  to  visit  the  Italian  opera,  where  he  must  hear 


[RB. 

i  great  and  generous 
11  my  Bonl." 
iture  that  God  gives 
energies  in  His  ser- 
soor  and  suffering,  I 
d  sin  of  my  past.     I 
ny  love  for  Valdimcr 
Liid,  and  anger  against 
ave  suffered  so  mucli 
ied,  and  received  his 
pet.  I  trust  in  eternity 
are  on  earth.     In  my 
of  Valdimer's  love  I 
how  a  Divine  Provi- 
and  how  I  was  saved 
of  without  shudder- 
sin,  that  I  should  like 
subject  forever.    Do 
koff?" 

lim  quite  accidentally, 
gay  and  reckless  life 
ible,  and  he  will  never 
at  he  holds  the  coun- 
)rror,  and  turns  quite 
neets  any  one  he  for- 
lat  no  one  can  induce 
•a,  where  he  must  hear 


1 


ENRICO'S  REWARD. 


3S7 


the  language  that  will  remind  him  of  an  epoch  in  his 
life  that  he  earnestly  desires  to  forget— and  no  wt)ndor, 
when  lie  considers  that  he  was  the  cause  of  the  death 
of  the  Duke,  and,  as  he  thinks,  the  daughter  of  the  un- 
fortunate Hugo,  for,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  he  has  never 
heard  that  Lisa  is  still  living,  and  that  your  daughter 
and  she  are  the  same." 

"  And  the  statue  of  Hebe,  what  became  of  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  in  the  D palace ;  Nordiskoff  presented  it 

to  his  friend  Count  D ,  and  lie  took  possession  of 

it  shortly  after  the  death  of  the  unhappy  artist." 

"  Did  you  ever  notice,  among  the  incomplete  works 
in  clay,  in  lingo's  studio,  a  statue  of  Nemesis  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  under  the  unmistakable  character  of  the 
angry  goddess,  I  recognized  the  face  of  the  Duchess  of 
Castellara." 

«  What  did  you  do  with  it  ? " 

"  I  caused  it  to  be  destroyed,  knowing  that  yon  no 
longer  wish  to  be  represented  in  such  a  cruel  imper- 
sonation." 

"  Thank  you,  Enrico;  it  was  an  insane  fi-eak  of  mine 
when  I  first  began  to  suspect  Valdimer's  constancy ; 
he  had  often  expressed  a  wish  for  a  portrait  of  me  in 
marble,  and  I  intended,  if  I  proved  that  he  had  de- 
ceived me,  to  present  him  with  that ;  but  thank  Heaven 
that  the  foolish  intention  was  frustrated,  and  the  work 
left  unfinished,  for,  as  you  say,  I  have  now  no  desire 


388 


ENRTCO'S  REWARD. 


for    vengeancc-my   only  and   greatest  need   is  for 


» 


mercy. 

"Which  you  will  liave,  dear  cousin,  and  many  years 
of  peace  and  happiness  in  the  love  of  your  child,  and 
in  my  friendship  and  devotion." 

«  God  grant  that  it  may  be  bo  ;  now  go  to  Lisa,  and 
learn  your  fate  from  her  own  lips,  and  if  she  loves  you 
as  I  think  she  does,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  your 

union  at  once." 

Lisa  sat  alone  in  a  little  arbor  under  an  orange  tree, 
watching  the  pretty  boats  darting  back  and  forth  on 
the  sunlit  mirror  of  the  lake,  and  wondered  why 
her  mother  detained  her  cousin  so  long,  and  what 
could  be  the  absorbing  subject  of  their  conversa- 
tion. 

« They  are  discussing  this  intended  marriage,"  she 
thought,  "and  it  is  useless  for  them  to  make  their 
plans  for  my  disposal,  for  I  am  determined,  without 
seeing  him,  not  to  like  this  pereon  whom  they  wish  me 

to  marry." 

At  last  Enrico  came  toward  her  with  his  firm,  proud 
step,  and  his  handsome  face  lit  up  with  love  and  happi- 
ness, while  she,  trembling  and  blushing,  and  yet  re- 
solved to  oppose  him,  held  out  her  hand  joyfully  as  she 

said: 

"I  thought  you  intended  to  talk    all    day  with 
mamma,  and  that  you  had  quite  forgotten  me." 


greatest  need   is  for 

ousin,  and  many  years 
ova  of  your  child,  and 

*  ;  '■■  .<■:>,  ■!■'-   ■y^H' 

) ;  now  go  to  Lisa,  and 
3s,  and  if  she  loves  you 
)thing  to  prevent  your 

•  under  an  orange  tree, 
ng  back  and  forth  on 
),  and  wondered  why 
sin  so  long,  and  whiit 
!ct  of   their    conversa- 

ntended  marriage,"  she 
ir  them  to  make  their 
\m  determined,  without 
son  whom  they  wish  me 

her  with  his  firm,  proud 

;  np  with  love  and  happi- 

i  blushing,  and  yet  re- 

her  hand  joyfully  as  she 

to  talk    all    day  with 
ite  forgotten  me." 


ENRICO'S  REWARD. 


iSO 


«  Ah,  no,  my  sweet  cousin,  you  were  not  forgotten, 
for  it  was  of  you  we  were  speaking." 

"I  Buspected  that,  and  yon  need  not  repeat  what 
you  were  saying  to  her,  for  I  am  quite  resolved  not  to 

listen  to  you." 

«  But  I  have  a  message  from  your  mamma,  and  you 

cannot  refuse  to  hear  that." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not ;  yon  may  give  it  me,  and  if  it  is 

what  I  think,  I  shall  regret  your  having  brought  it,  for 

I  like  you  always  to  be  the  bearer  of  pleasant  tidings." 

« I  trust  these  are  pleasant ;  may  I  tell  you  what  your 

mamma  wished  me  to  ask  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  I  must  hear  it." 

"These  were  her  words,  « Ask  Lisa  youi-self  if  she 
loves  you,  and  tell  her  if  she  does^  that  she  has  my 
consent  to  your  marriage  with  her.' "  ^ 

The  girl  turned  pale  and  red  alternately  at  Enrico  s 
words,  and  then  said,  with  eager  joy  in  her  wice,  "  Are 
you  the  one  mamma  wishes  me  to  marry  1 " 
*<  I  am,  my  Lisa." 

"And  are  you  the  one  who  has  loved  me  so  long? 
« 1  am.    I  have  loved  you  ever  since  the  night  I  res- 
cued you  from  danger,  for  on  that  night  1  first  saw  you 
praying  in  the  chuych,  and  my  heart  went  to  you  and 
has  remained  with  you  ever  since." 

"Can  it  be  possible  that  you  love  met    Ohl  I  did 
not  dare  to  think  of  such  happiness." 


1 


390 


ENRICO' a  REWARD. 


■  «  And  you,  my  darling,  do  you  love  me  ? " 
«  Como  with  mo  to  mamma  and  I  will  answer  you." 
Taking  Enrico's  hand  she  led  him  to  the  spot  where 
the  DuchesB  was  sitting,  and  putting  her  arm  gently 
around  her  mother's  neck  she  pressed  her  face  close  to 
hers  and  whispered  :  "Mamma,  I  am  willing  to  obey 
you  ;  I  will  marry  the  husband  you  have  selected  for 


me. 


t 


And  80  Enrico  had  his  reward. 


t 


In  an  obscure  street  in  Florence  stands  an  old  pal- 
ace that  travellers  seldom  visit ;  some  years  ago  it  be- 
longed to  the  D family,  but  now  it  has  passed  into 

other  hands.  Among  the  few  choice  works  of  art  that 
adorn  its  sombre  gallery  is  an  exquisite  statue  of 
Hebe.    On  the  base  is  the  single  name, 

Hugo," 
and  on  the  reverse  a  line  from  Dante, 

^^  Delia  hella  jperacym,  che  mifu  tolta." 

Who  was  Hugo? 

THE  XND. 


VARD. 

u  love  me  ? " 

nd  I  will  answer  you." 

liim  to  the  spot  where 
utting  her  arm  gently 
ressed  her  face  close  to 
,  I  am  willing  to  obey 

you  have  selected  for 


rence  stands  an  old  pal- 
; ;  some  years  ago  it  be- 
lt now  it  has  passed  into 
choice  works  of  art  that 
an  exquisite  statue  of 
<Ae  name, 


Dante, 
jhe  mifv,  tolta." 


IS. 


The  Piil.lisher»,on  receipt  of  price.will  send  any  book  on  this  Catalogue  by  mM./ot/,iff./rri 

o 

All  books  in  this  list  Innkss  otherwise  siKcilicJJ  are  handsomely  bound  in  cloth  board 
binding,  with  gilt  backs  suitable  for  Ubiaries. 

Mary  J.  Ho)iiies'  Worlm 


Tempest  and  Sunshine S'  5° 

English  Orphani ,•■ »  5° 

Homestead  on  the  Hillside 150 

'Lena  Rivers «  5° 

Meadow  Brook 5" 

Dora  Deane •  5" 

Cousin  Maude '  S" 

Mirian  Grey »  5° 

Edith  Lyle (New). 


Darkness  and  Daylight (i  50 

Hugh  Worthington i  50 

Cameron  Pride i  50 

Rose  Mather i  50 

Ethclyn's  Mistake i  50 

Millbank  i  5° 

Edna  Browning 1511 

West  Lawn i  50 

Mild;ed (New) 1  50 


Alone 8i  50 

Hidden  Path •  5" 

Moss  Side i  5° 

Nemesis •  5° 

Miriam '  5 

At  Last '  50 

Helen  Gardner •  5° 

True  as  Steel (New) i  50 


Marion  Horland's  Worl{»> 


Sunnybank 9'  S" 

Husbands  and  Homes i  jo 

Ruby's  Husband i  50 

Phemie's  Temptation i  50 

The  Empty  Heart i  50 

Jessamine i  5° 

From  My  Youth  Up 150 

My  Little  Love (New) i  50 


Charles  Dioken«-18  Vols.-"  Carleton'*  Edition." 


David  Copperfield $1  5° 

Nicholas  Nickleby i  jo 


Little  Dorrit. 

Our  Mutual  Friend 

Curiosity  Shop— Miscellaneous. 
Sketches  by  Boz— Hard  Times.. 


Pickwick,  and  Catalogue (i  5° 

I   Dombey  and  Son '5° 

Bleak  House >  5t> 

!  Martin  ChuMlewit »  5° 

i  Barnaby  Rudge -Edwin  Drood..  i  50 
Child's  England— Miscellaneous  1  50     ^,  , 

ChristmasBooks— and— A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.. « 

Oliver  Twist— and-The  Uncommercial  Traveler . ......   « 

Great  Expectationa-and-Pictures  of  Italy  and  America  . . ..... ... .....     i  5° 

Sets  of  Dickens'  Complete  Works,  in  15  vols.— [elegant  half  calf  bindings] .  50  00 

Angnata  J.  Evana*  Novels. 
Beulah ««  75  181.  Elmo »a  00 

Macaria '  «    y■r'^." /m"; l^ 

Inez  i75|lnfelice (New) «  00 


"cAA'L/^:roAr  ^^  co.'s  pubuca  tions. 


Quy  Earlicourt'i 
A  Terrible  Secret. 
Norine'i  Revenge. 
Silent  end  True— (New) 


■e^?/    ^«"%".  ,^Tt»?:"d«r^u?^JS;.n •>  7, 

,;^"" •     l\      AMed  M.riUge «  75 

■'l ,  „     One  NiBht'BMyetery 175 

'"•v,-.:; Kate  U»nton •  75 


Love  (L'Amour)— Tran»laiioiv...»i 

RutledM, 
Frank  W 


Kate  U«nton 
M.    Mlcliel^t'p,  Work* 


arrlngton 

Louie's  Leet  Term,  etc 
Richard  Vandermarck . 


f.fyWomSnrLa'Femmel-TraniUlionli 

.o      The  Sutherlande •> 

St.  Philip'* •„■• ' 

Round  Heaiti,  for  Children i 

A  Perfect  Adonii- (New) ' 


....    «  5° 
....    1   5" 

Hie  Young  Wife-(New) ■     i  7 J  I  „ 

i,h...y  «"  ?f  1  ?."^M..er.bl..-In  Spanl.h ts  » 


Lea  Miserablei-In  KhrV 


The  Scalp  Hunters •' 

The  Rifle  Rangers  . 

The  War  Trail 

The  Wood  Rangers 
The  Wild  Huntress 


C»ptRln  'Mayne    Fold 

v>»p» f  he  White  Chief t'  5o 


The  Tiger  Hunter '  5<i 

The  Hunter's  Feast '  5o 

Wild  Life ...•     '  50 

Osceola,  the  Seminole '  5o 

Complete  Comic  Wrltlngs-wTm*l"g  "pt.y.  IV."raii.  nnd  5"  lHuMrations. . . .  •>  co 

A.  S.   Roe'"    Select    SlorleB.  , 

^        .„>k.T..t       ■*•'•*    ""$,  so  I  A  Long  Look  Ahead »■  5" 

Cliarle^    I>iok«nK 

Child's  History  of  England-Cailetoni.  New 

Paper   Covers,    BO  Ceiit«-Cloth,    $1.00 

ByG.  n.T.illman........  ]  Solomo!}.If»»?,».7"y  "'''*"'""'':: 


' Schorl  F.dithn."     lllustrated.fi  a5 


Tom's  Wife-     . 
That  Comic  Primer 
That  Awful  Boy...... 

That  Bridget  of  Ours 


By  Frank  Beliew.     That  Horrid  Girl... 

'  I     k«.         f..t.>  nriA    AllfTllftt 


Me— July  and  AuRUSt. 

He  and  1— Sarah  K.  Stelibint 


W.  Carleton.     Annals  of  a  Baby- 


Mr*.  S.  C.  foe. 


tKn.  Hiirs   CooV   Book.  .  .,  „ 

Mre.  A.  P.  HUl'i  New  s"?h«n'ccikery^ook,  and  domestic  receipt, «»  oo 


Hand-Book.  _pf   Soelety 


rood  manners |i  y> 


The  Habits  of  Good  8o"clety-rhe  nice  ro'"'''  of  usle  and  gi 


lie  agreeable  talkcri <  .1" 

...o....,   ..».  w»,>_~...- -Kor  self-improvement i  50 

New  Diamond  EdltTon-Smair;i.e.  eleg*an,ly  bound,  3  volume*  in  a  box .,  " 

Caruton..  New  S!^^^^!^^^^^!'^^^ -  '»  | 


Josh   BllUnB" 


si-s-ssiM^Si^i^-'-^-fri^^^^^^ 


Tramp  Cards— Illu«trated 


™ff'*rlrait,  and  iooillush:atipn».|»  00 


=i 


-t^s;?.ime0^m*  t  swswseea?^***'^' 


:4JB^eHas3te«fe:*f>*%^fe^-.4«w«?,=K:«i*»»e^«<«- 


^ondenuf  Woman •  i 


Mad  Marriage. 

e  Night'*  MyaUry. 

te  Uunton 


^XTorlca 

Oman  1  La  Femme)— Tranilallon|i 

Hnrrla. 

e  Sutlierlanda »' 

,  Philip'a •„.• ' 

lund  Heaita,  for  Children i 

Perfect  Adonla- (New) ' 

latrice'Cencl— Uy  Cuerraiii •• 


,  a    Novela. 

ie  Widower 

ie  Married  Belle 

>urtinB  and  Farming. 


■  •> 


'afivrCAh'LliTON  &-  CO.' a  PUaiiCATWNS. I 


.%!  OO 


ra^Miaerablea— In  Spanl»h ts  » 

ne    KoiU. 

ne  White  Chief •'  5o 

he  Tiger  Hunter >  5<i 

he  Hunter'a  Feaat '  so 

/lid  Life '  5° 

Bceola,  the  Seminole >  5° 

nTard. 

jr,  I'orlrait,  mid  50  llliittrations 

ieot    Storlt-B.  . 

Long  Look  Ahead ?i  5" 

ve  Been  Thinking '  5° 

o  Love  and  to  be  Loved t  50 

w"^*5^/ ;?rfiV/.'«."    Illustrated.il  aj 
nta-Cloth,    $1.00. 

olomon  Isaacs— By  ».  L.  Farjeon.... 

hat  Horrid  Oirl .•■•••■••:  ■  •  •  ■  ■ 

Je— July  and  August.  By  Mr».  b.  C.  toe. 

leand  I— Sarah  H.  Stelibint 

Lnnala  of  a  Baby-    <lo. . . . . . . 

:hat  Charming  Evening -Bellew 


■Jook   Book.  .  , 

Book,  and  domestic  receipts «»  0 

of   Society.       ^  .,  , 

iiUs  of  usie  and  Bood  manners »i  5 

ri.sh  to  lie  agreeable  talkers 15 

iklnK- For  self-improvement t  5 

tly  bound,  3  volumes  in  a  box 3  t 

ar   Qnotatlnns.,     ,.  .    , 

Dtations,  with  their  authorship ft  ; 

.rlaton'a    Edition." 

Don  QuUote-Rorc's  lllus. ... . . . . »i  < 

Swia*  Family  Robinaon— Marcer  i  1 

^S5^"rlrait,  and  too  illustrations. ♦»  1 
Farmer'!  Almlnax— Illustrated 


'•  New  York  WoeUly"  Sn  lo». 

..  -  wnrirf  ai  so     Nick  WhinieH 

Thrown  on  the  Worla •'  i"  ■  ' 

reerleaa  Catl.leen  |  5" 

Faithful  Murguret «  5" 


5" 

50 


Lady  Leonora 

The  Oriiider  Pupera. 
A  Bitter  Atonement. 


(New), 


1  5" 
I  5" 
1  50 
»   50 


Curse  of  Everleigh. ■ • 

Love  Worka  Wonders.  (In  pre..) 

Twixt  Hammer  and  f^^^^^^^^^ ^-'a'.  „>h  Poom..      „  \  ,  ,„ 

,    .■  ...    ,l)..,mlHi"\i  r'l  Fioin  Dawn  to  Noon «■  50 

Conatanc.'.  Fat. ;  «r  ^';";^;'"i.J,'„=e;„y  ,  •  MrloU.") 

■      .  fit   w  I  Nonsense.     (Ai:uhiii 

Sense.     A»cmm«book *     J,     Br.ck-Uuat  l^ 

Gold-Duat         '*"•.,. ,  %A  Home  llurmonlea. 

OurSaturdoy  «'«%,„.   E.  Oar.  W^^  „  ,„ 

stolen  Waters.    (In  v.:rs<.) »■  .S'J     ^^-^^^  Medways' Two  Love* 1  50 

!i,oken  Dreams.      !>>.■       ,  50     A  Woman's  Wiles.  ...     150 

Terrace  Roses,    (New) »  S"  1  - 


,.  ok) , . . 
(New). 


•«' 


Stolen  Waters.    (Inv.:rs<.) »■  S'H  ^"  *Medways'Tw'o  Love*..'.'.'.'.    150 

!i,oken  Dreams.      !>>>■       ,  50     A  Woman's  Wiles.  ...     150 

Terrace  Roses,    ^^^i^^Vr^^^^,    , ,      a.  ,.  „ 

ii^„^i!f  ^^x;;i:;.ties.'''"r"'^  'v!.:i^:^r '"  """""^  '"^'     '  °° 

our  Artist  In  Cuba.  Peru,  ^^ry^-^--''^"'' ''''''■■ "  '" 


Verdaut  Uroou 


A  Racy  Engll.h  College  Stor-y-W'U.  .n,.n.r,ms  "rlginal  cmic  illustra.i.m.  . .  L  00 
AUan  FluiijBrt»« 


..«!'    5" 


Sprrttu^Ti'sts  and  Detectives  .. .   «i  50 
Mollie  Maguites  and  Detectives.   1  50 


Pole  on  Whlat.- The  late 
One  Fair  Woman 


|i  00 


.9-.!  00 


Model  Towns  and  Detectives . 
Strik.;rii,  Communists,   t.tc 

'"^^"°'' |fe:»Vl;,T«e„largeaedi.ion 

Joaqaln  Miller,  „        ,. 

(l.r„5c) «.  ex,  J  Barone.a  of  New  York.    (Poetry)$.  5° 

Joseph  Rodman  Drake.  , 

The  Culprit  Fay-Tl.e  well  known  f^'^V  P';^-  f;;;!!;"""""    "  

Journey  from  New  York  to  Sa"F«n?i.co-IWu.dy  Ulus.rated 

Parlor  Mnaiool  AloKm*  .,  „  ,       ,    « 

AcholcecoltectionofVoc^andlnstrumenUlM^u^^^     Beautifully  bound ..  »s  co 

Bird,  of  a  Feather  Flock T?^th5r-'Wi'th  character  Ulustrations •«  5" 

Record  of  the  Tfear,  1878.  u     1  a,  „„ 

Two  Bound  Volumea-By  Frank  Moore,  wiih  ..  steel  porirail. each  vol.  «.,  00 

Ufe  Inanrauoe  Compamea.  r.       a,  ~, 

Stratagems  and  Con.plracies-Crnninal  a..c,ni,.s  to  defraud  Insurance  Co.,.  .fa  00 
'  Recent  Pnhlloat'ons,  , 

-A  novel,  by  Mrs.  C.  V.  1  lannlton.  .^ .  .^ »«  5^ 


Miacellaneona  Novels.  . 

lanet-An  English  novel »'  5°    Conquered^ ...»^S^ 

Innocents  from  Abroad-Illus...    i  so    A    For  Him ^^ 

For  Each  Other... I  ?°  ^Lf°,',„„I  A  West' Point  novel .  5° 


Mr.  Qhim's  Dream . 


G.   tV.  CARLETON  &>  (  O.'S  PUBUCAl lOiSS. 


BfUo«llanean«  Wurka. 

A  H«rv«it  of  Wild  0«tl- A   Niml,  !■>•  Horencc  Marryalt |i  ^n 

Milly  Darren     A  Nnvei,  l.v  Mi"i  M.  K   llr..,l.l.Mi,  niiili.ir  .il  •' Aiinra  Hoyd'  ...  i  v. 

Why  Wile  and  I  Quarreled-  lly  the  .imlmr  .if  ••  I  ulscy  uml  I  arc  ( Itll    i  iw 

True  Love  Ki  warded     A  ni'W  Novil,  liy  the  .iiilluir  "  Triif  In  llic  L.-»»l  "...,■•  I  V 

Threading  My  Way     Ilic  AiiiMhici.{r.iipliy  "f  Kuhori  D.ilc  <)wi.n I  5 

The  Debatable   Land-  lly  K'il>'ii  1  i.il<:  Own »■■■ 

Ll((h»»  and  Sliadowi  of  Spirltuuhiiii     lly  I>.  I>.  Il'mie. w  .•> 

Qlimptea  of  the  Supernatural  -  I'ucIh,  Kti unU.  nivl  Trudiiioin. 
Lion  Jack  -A  New  lllii»tr.ili:il  .Mciiuixcrie  llnok  fur  llnyii.  — I'.  T.  II 

We»t  India  HIcklee— Jnnrn.d  ..f  ^ilr.iim.il  V.i.  liHrinse,  hy  W.  I',  lullmyfc...  i  51 

-Continental  Tourlat— New  Yiirk  In  S;in  Krnniiiico.  -  - 


T.  lUrnuiii I 


O.  A.  Crofutt'a  Trans 

Laui  Veiicrm  and  other  Hoems 


lly  Alu'iniiii  l'li:irlf<  Swinlnirrc I 


Parodies  and  Foema  .nnl  My  Vacation  -  Hy  (  .  II.  WiMj  (Jiliii  1  »ul).... 

Comic  Hiatory  of  the  United  Statea-  liviniC'iiHi  ll"rl<iii«      lllimtraicd 

Mother  Ooo»e  Melodica  Set  to  Muaic— wiili  tmiiii:  illiistniiidii* 

jacquea  Offenbach'a  Experiences  In  America— I'ri'iii  llie  I'arit  edition... 

How  to  Make  Money;  and  How  to  Keep  It     Hy  llMMnas  A.  l).ivie«. 

Our  Children-  leiiliriiK  I'arratu  how  lu  kccvi  ilicm  in  Health— Dr.  (.ardner. .. 

Wnlclmian  ;  What  ol  the  Night  ?-  lly  Ur,  J.ilni  I'liinming,  t.f  l.omlon 

Ranny  Kern  MemoriaU-Wiih  .1  ll'iiBiaphy,  hy  Jamen  I'arion 

Tales  frum  the  Opera»--A  I  nlli'diim  of  Si.jrii'»  li.isnl  iipmi  llnOpcra  Pints 

New  Nonsense  Rhymes-  Hy  W.  II.  II<m  kilt,  with  illusiraiidiis  hy  C.  ('..  Iliiith. 
Progressive  Petticoats-A  S.nirirallalo.  t.v  Ri.l-frt  H.  Kn.iM-vcIt  . .    ••••■• 

Souvenirs  of  Travel  — lly  MailamcOciaM.i  Woltnn  l.t-Vert.  iil  Molnle,  Ala. .. 
Woman,  Love,  and  Marriage— A  spu  y  little  Wnrk,  hy  !■  rnl  Sann(li-r»..  •  .^j  •  ■ .     i  5" 
The  K.tH  of  Man     A  |i.ir»iniaii  S.itirc,  hy  anilior  uf  "  N<w  ( lo- pel  nf  Peace    ....        50 

The  Chronicles  of  Gotham- A  .M.i.lern  Satire,    .    .    Do.     .     .     Iio.       ...... 

Ballad  of  Lord  riatcman— With  illintratinns  hy  C'rnikvhank  (paper  cover*) . . . 
Tha  Yachtcnan's  Primer-Km  aniati-nr  Sailors.     'I     K.  W'ariin  (paper  covers) 

Rural  Architecture- Hy  M.  I'ield.     With  plan*  and  ilhistraiidin  

Transl'jrmution  Scenes  inthe  United  States— Hy  Hiram  fuller.... 

Kingsbury  Sketches— Pine  C.rove  Doings  hy  .lolui  II    Kingsbury.    Illustrated 

MlBoellaneouB  Novolii 


I  v 

I   rr 

1  .V 
I  50 
I  ro 

1   5" 

8  r« 


I 


35  ' 
as 

1    JO 

I   50 


Led  Aitray— Fly  Otav!  Keiiillct. .,$1  50 
She  Lovetf  Him  Madly— Horys. ..  1  50 
Through  Thick  and  Thin— Mcry.  1  5" 

So  Fair  yet  False— Chavctic  1  5" 

A  Fatal  Passion— C.  Hernard i  50 

Se;n  and  Unseen i  -^n 

Purple  and  Fine  Linen— Kawcett.  1  75 
Pauline's  Trial— I..  L.  I).  Courtney  ■  5" 
A  Charming  Willow— Marcpmid. .  i  75 
The  Forgiving  Kiss— lly  M.  I-cith.  i  75 
Kenneth,  My  King— S.  A.  Hroi:k..  i  75 
Heart  Hungry— M.J. Westmoreland  i  75 
Clifford  Troupe,  Do.  i  75 

Sllcott  Mill-  .M.iria  T).  Dcslonde...  i  75 
lohnMaribel.  Do.  ...  i  75 

Passing  the  Portal— Mrs.  Victo*. .   i  5" 

Out  of  the  Cage— (1.  W.  Owen 1  50 

Saint  Leger— Rich iril  II.  Kimball.  1  75 
Was  He  Successful  ?  .  .  .  Do.  1  75 
Un.JercurrentB  of  Wall  St.  .  Do.  1  75 
Romance  of  Student  Life.    .   Po.  1  75 

To-Day Do.  i  75 

Life  in  San  Domingo.  .  .  .  Po.  i  50 
Henrr  Powers.  Banker.   .    .  Do.  i  75 

A  Book  about  Doctors a  00 

A  Book  about  Lawyers a  00 

Manfred— By  Ouerrazii i  75 


7S 
I  73 
I  75 
I  75 
I  7.i 
1   7'^ 

I  CO 
1  CO 
3  CO 
3  IX> 
3i   I 

'5 


A  Woman  In  the  Case- Turner  ..$!  50 
lohnny  Ludlow.  Kruiii  London  ed.  1  50 
Shiftless  Folks— Kannic  Smith....  i  75 
A  Woman  in  Armor— Hurtwell...  1  50 
Phemle  Frost— Ann  S.  Stephens.,,  i  50 
Marcueritr's Journal,  For  girls..  150 
Romance  of  kailroad— Smith  ....  1  50 

Charette — An  American  novel 1  5" 

Fairfax— John  l-.slcu  Cooke i  Jo 

Hilt  to  Hilt.  Do I  so 

Out  of  the  Foam.         Po i  ■;"  ] 

Hammer  and  Ropier. Do ...  i 

Warwick— Uy  M.  T.  Walworth. . . . 

Lulu.  Po 

Hotspur.  Po 

Stormcliff.  Po 

Delaplalne.  Po 

Beverly.  po. 

Beldazzle's  Bachelor  Studies  — 
Northern  Ballads— K.  I..  Anderson 
O.  C.  Kerr  Papers.  4Vols.  in  one. . 
Victor  Hugo— His  autobiography... 
Sandwiches — Hy  Artemiis  Ward.. . 
Widow  Sprigg  ins — Widow  Dedott. 

Wood's  Guide  to  N.  Y.  City i  no 

Loyal  unto  Death 1  7S 

Bessie  Wilmerton—Westcott i  75 


•V  rVBLICAtlOSS. 


Work*. 

Bine  Marry.llt %\  V> 

nil,  miihiir  111  "Aiifra  Floyd"...  i  50 

if  ••  l\|sfV  iinil  I  arc  Ofll     1  10 

iiilliiir  "Tnif  In  llic  !,.•»«<  " ■  i  V' 

Kulmri  D.ilf  llwi.n I  S' 

11 a  <■' 

I.  I>.  Home, ail 

il»,  nnd  Tradilionn ami 

fur  lliiyn.— I'. '1.  Ilarniim I  fo 

ilii  t'niise,  liy  W.  r. 'l'Mll»>y»... .  150 

—  Nrw  Yiirk  In  San  Krancinco. ...  1  v 

nil  I'hailfs  Swinliiifpc i  v 

I  C.  M.  W.l.b  (Juliii  Taul) i  w 

(Mnii  llii|ikiii«      llliiiilralcd 1  v. 

I  L'ninii:  illiiHtratiniiH t  r<^ 

srlcn—l'rnm  llie  r»rin  edition...  1  .v> 

It     Hy 'riiiiiiias  A.  Davits 1  50 

ihcm  ill  Healih— Dr.  liardner. ..  i  no 

Jiiliii  I'uiimiing,  of  Lomloii 1  50 

tiy  Jaiiici  I'arinn »  00 

fr>  li.isul  iipmi  llnOpera  I'lnln, ...  i   <,r    ' 

I,  with  illiisliaiiniis  liy  C.  (1.  llinh.  i  i-o 

Knliert   H.  Kncm-vclt    I   <n 

almn  l.t  Vert.  <i(  Moliile,  Ala...  a  i<i 

;  Work,  by  Krrd  Saiimli-rii 1  50  ; 

inr  of"  New  t;o-|icl  (if  I'cace".. ..        50 

e,     .     .    Do.     .      .     Do 35 

hy  I'rnik'.liank  (pajier  covcm)  . . .  35 

nrs.     T    K.  Wariiii  (paper  covers)        50 

aim  and  illiislraiiiiin  3  fm 

lc«— lly  llirarn  Jiiller i  5" 

if  Jnlin  II    KingHbury.    Illustrated  i  5° 

B  NoTOlll.  I 

Woman  In  the C«»e— Turner  ..$1  50  j 
ilinny  Ludlow.    Krinn  Loiulnn  cd.  1  50 

hiftle»»  Folks— Fannie  Smith i  75 

Woman  in  Armor— llaitwell...  1  50 
hemie  Fro«t— Ann  S.  Stephens...  i  5" 
lariruerlte's  Journal.  Knr  girls..  1  50 
oniance  of  liailroad— Smith  ....   i  50 

harette — An  American  novel i  5" 

nirfax—Jiiliii  l-.sicii  Cooke i  5" 

ilt  to  Hilt.  Do I  Sl- 
ut of  the  Foam.         Do I  s" 

ammer  and  Rapier.  Do 15" 

/arwlck— Uy  M.  'I'.  Walworth. . . . 

ulu.  Do 

otspur.  Do 

tormclifT.  Do 

elaplalne.  Dn 

cverly.  Do 

eldazzle'a  Bachelor  Studiei.... 
lorthern  Ballads— K.  I..  Anderson  i  rr 
I.  C.  Kerr  Papers.  4vols.  in  one. .  a  » 
ictor  Hugo— His  autobiography. ..  a  nn 
andwiches— liy  Ariemiis  Ward. . .  =' 
VldowSpriggina — Widow  Hedott.   1  7; 

Vood'a  Guide  to  N.  Y.  City i  no 

.oyal  unto  Death 1  75 

leasie  Wilmerton— Westcoit i  75 


I  75 
I  7.i 
>  75 
■  7? 
I  75 
I   75 


CHARLES  DICKENS'  WOBKS. 

A  Wew  Edition. 

AoHoc  tbe  mwy  editions  of  fhe  worki  of  iWs  greaUtt  it 
fcMlilihNowHsts,  ihere  ha»  not  been  tinnl  now  wt  thnt  entli«l| 
MtTsfie*  fhe  puliiic  demand. -Without  e»i*i.t^^,  tlev  each  have 
•ome  strong  distinctive  objection,— either  the  torfii  ai^  dimensioni 
of  the  volume-,  are  unhandy— or,  the  type  is  small  and  Indistinct— 
or,  the  UUistratioiis  are  uniatlsfactory— or,  the  bindrnj;  is  poor— or, 
Ibe  price  «  too  hi^h. 

An  entirely  new  edition  is  mtw,  however,  published  by  G.  W. 
Cafleton  &  Co.  of  New  York,  which,  it  is  Wieved,  will,  in  evefy 
rapcct,  completely  aatisfy  the  popular  demand.— It  is  known  as 
"Corleton'i  Mow  Iliuntrnted  Edlllon." 
CoMPi-ETK  iH  ij  Volumes. 
The  lUe  and  form  is  mst  convenient  fur  holding,- the  tyoe  to 
entirely  new,  and  of  a  cleat  and  of*n  character  that  has  i ecelved  tM 
approval  of  tlie  reading  community  iti  other  popular  woiWi. 

The  illustrations  are  by  the  original  artists  chosen  \  y  Chwlet 
Dickens  himself-and  the  paper,  printing,  awl  binding  are  of  an 
attractive  and  substantial  character. 

Thia  beautiful  new  e<lition  is  complete  in  iS  volume*— at  th« 
•ttnmely  reasonable  price  of  f  1.50  per  yolume,  a»  foUows  :— 

I.— PICKWICK  PAPERS  AND  CATAUX3UE. 

a.— OLIVER  TWIST.— UNCOMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER. 

X, — DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 

4,— GREAT  EXPF-CTATKJNS.— ITALY  AND  AJttUCA. 

C— DOMBEY  AND  SON. 

6.— BARNABY  RUDT.E  AND  EDWIN  DROOIk 
— NICHOLAS   MCKLEBY. 
— CURIOSITY  SHOP  AND  MISCELLAJilOIIl, 

^ — BLEAK  HOUSE. 
la — LITTLE  DORRIT, 
II. — MARTIN  CIIUZILEWIT. 

Ij. — OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND.  

13.— CHRISTMAS  BOOKS.— TALE  OF  TWO   CITIBS. 

.  SKETCHES  BY  KOZ  AND  HARD  TIMES. 

15,— CHILD'S  ENGLAND  AND  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  first  volume  -Pickvrick  Papers— contains  an  aIphahetir.J 
oiUlogue  of  aU  of  Charles  Dickens'  writingi,  with  their  pi^tioji 
in  the  volumes. 

Thii  edition  U  sold  by  Booksellers,  everywhere— and  single  aped- 
men  copies  wiU  be  forwarded  by  maU,  postagt  /r«,  on  reufipt  of 

pto%  iiifi,  by       ^  ^  CARLETON  &  CO.,  Publisher!, 

Madtooo  Square,  New  Vock. 


Mary  J.  Holmes*  Works. 

■TBMPKST  AND  SUNSHINE.   ♦  S^MARIAN  GRAY. 


I  .ENGUSH  ORPHANS. 
,  -HOMESTEAD  ON  HIU.SIDE. 
I  -'LENA  RIVERS. 
i  -MEADOW  UR'JOK. 
i-DORA  DEANE. 
f.-COUSIN  MAUDE. 
i6  —WEST  LAWN. 


g  —DARKNESS  and  DAI'LJOHl 
le— HUGH  WORTHIKGTOJI. 
II. -CAMERON  PRIDE. 
u.-ROSE  M.VrHER. 
iV-ETHEI.VN'S  MISTAKE 
14.-MILLBANK.  • 
-ii5.-BDNA    BROWNING. 
17.— EDITH  LYLE. 


OPINIONS   OF   THE    PRESS. 

"Mm.  Ho\.9ti'  Mories  sre  uiiivrrsally  rea.l.  Hct  a-tmirer*  are  numt«=.le».. 
Bhs  is  ia  many  rcspais  *il!.out  a  rival  in  the  worM  A  ficl.on.  Her  d.«rMt«* 
ire  alwiy.  life-like.  :,ntl  she  make,  (hem  talk  and  act  like  V.i.man  l«!i.B«.  •iibject 
lu  the  »me  eai-lians,  swayed  by  the  «nie  passion.,  and  .ctualed  by  the  tan* 
convcs  whi^!-.  are  common  among  men  and  women  of  every  day  existence.  Mrs. 
Holo.js  is  very  hcppy  it.  portraying  domestic  life.  Old  and  younu  peniM  hci 
-.ttrirs  with  (tiwt  delight,  for  she  writes  in  a  style  that  all  can  comprehend.'  - 
y*w  Vori  Wttkly. 

"Mrs.  Holmes'  stories  are  all  of  a  domestic  character,  and  their  interest, 
theiclore,  is  not  so  intense  as  if  they  were  more  highly  seasoned  with  sensational- 
ism, but  it  is  r  f  a  healthy  and  abiding  character.  Almost  any  new  book  which  hor 
nibUshsr  might  choose  to  announce  from  her  pen  would  get  an  unmediateand 
general  reading.  The  interest  in  ber  tales  begins  at  once,  and  is  maintamed  to 
the  close.  Her  sentiments  are  so  sound,  her  sympathies  so  warm  and  ready, 
u>.l  her  knowledge  of  manners,  character,  and  the  varied  incidents  of  otdinary 
Uls  i<  so  thorough,  that  she  *ould  find  it  difficult  to  writ,  any  other  than  an 
•]tceUei.t  tUe  if  she  were  to  try  H."—B*tUM  Bauntr. 

"Mrs.  Holmes  U  very  amusing:  has  a  qukk  and  true  lense  ol  hcmor,  a 
sympathetic  tone,  a  percepHoa  of  character,  and  a  famniai,  attractive  style, 
(teasantly  adapted  to  the  comprehension  and  the  taste  ol  that  large  dut  «< 
iT^ican  reader,  for  whom  fashlonahU  noreU  and  ideal  fantaiir.  ha*.  M 
i±tma."—fi*Mrr  T.  Tucktrman. 

'       |VTh«  whimes  are  ali  handsomely  printed  asd  V«nd  in  c!oth.-«*f 
KMywhatt,  and  sent  by  mail,  foitagt  frit,  on  receipt  of  (wif  •  If  1.50  tadil.  by 

O.  W    CARLETON  ft  CO..  Pnblithcra, 

Madison  Square,  New  Yerk. 


■^%:^^Ml,£^^.^J^^ 


.3W:!i*«t!?™^.^«4»«a^SS,*.!»=*»aii"' 


,„  ,i^i^i:^^m^.S3i,fi:QfMi^i^.^*^i^*i^»'ii0i''^^-^  '^' 


IRES-  Works. 


It 


S^MARIAN  GRAY. 

g  —DARKNESS  and  DA%'L;0H7 
le— HUGH  WORTHINGTON. 
ii.-CAMERON  PRIDK. 
t».— ROSE  MATHKR. 
M.— ETHEI.VWS  MISTAKE 
U.-MILLBANK.  • 
r5.-KnNA    BROWNING. 
17.— EDITH  LYLE. 

THE    PRESS. 

r  reail.  IIct  aitmirer*  are  numt)«:ile»». 
u  the  worM  A  fiction.  Ker  diiraci*!* 
talk  and  act  like  Kuman  l>eiiiB!i,  mbjert 
De  pasBior.J,  and  «ctualeil  by  the  am* 
nd  women  of  every  day  exi.uer.ce.  Mrs. 
aestic  life.  Old  and  youny  peruse  hn 
in  St  style  thut  all  can  comprehend."— 

domestic  character,  and  their  iDterest, 
I  more  highly  seasoned  with  sensational- 
racter.  Almost  any  new  book  which  hot 
»  her  pen  would  get  an  immediate  and 
es  begins  at  once,  and  is  maintained  to 
1,  her  sympathies  so  warm  and  ready, 
r,  and  Uie  varied  incidents  of  ctdinary 
it  difficult  to  writ*  »ny  other  than  an 
m  BauHtr. 

IS  a  quick  and  true  tense  ol  bcmor,  a 
■cter,  and  a  fomiliai,  attractive  ttjric 
n  and  the  taite  ol  that  large  diit  ti 
la   nomb  and  ideal  Cwtasirs   ha*«  M 


Aj  printed  and  Vmnd  in  ckitb.— (oU 
ret,  on  recdpt  of  yAt*  [f  1.50  aadil,  \ii 

ON  ft  CO..  Pnblithcrc, 
Madison  Square,  New  Yerk, 


iTSIJ»ftft«SWiUffR^^'-<? 


FIFTH  AVENUE  HOTEL, 

NEW    ¥OHK* 

OPPOSITE   MADISON    SQUARE, 
Junction  of  5th  Avenue  and  Broadway. 


THE  BEST  ani  MOST  CEMRHL  HOTEL  ill  tHe  CITT 


Convenient  to  all  Places  of  Amusement, 

and  easy  of  access  by  all  horse 

car   and   stage    lines. 

DARLING,  GRISWOLD  &  CO., 

^Proprietors. 


United  STlT¥LiFiioRAiJCE  Co. 

IN    TIIK   OITV    OF    NEW    VORK. 

Home  Office:  261,  262  &  263  Broadway,  N.  Y. 

Assets.  $4,846,032.64.    Surplus.  $800,000.00. 

ALL   FORMS    OF    LIFE    AND    ENDOWMENT    FOLIOIES    ISSOED. 

Endowment  Pollcloi  and  Approved  Claims  due  In  1.878  will  be 

discounted  at  7  per  cent,  on  presentation. 

C.  P.  FRALEIGH,  Sec'y.       JAMES  BUELL,  Pres't.      T.  H.  BROSNAN,  Sup't. 

THR  PRlNCirAL  FKATURKS  OF  THIS  COMPANY  A KK 

ADsomie  SecDriiy,  Economical  Maiiageaient,  and  Linerality  to  lUe  Insnreil. 

OPiriOMS  ESPEE33ED  B7  THE  IHSUEAUOB  COMMISSIOMEES. 
Hon  Stejilicn  11.  Ilhoilos,  Cortimiasinncr  for  Msissachusette,  Bays : 
"  The'United  States  Life  is  SoiJND  TO  TiiK  CH)UE  and  in  a  very 
cre.litiiblo  and  llourishi.iR  condition.  No  life  comp.iny  m  this  coun- 
try has  ever  l.ecn  subjected  to  a  more  thorough  and  severe  scrutiny. 
Its  books,  accounts,  and  collaterals,  its  policy  liabilities  and  agency 
accounts,  were  Rono  into  with  a  iiiiiiute  dctud  wlucli  left  no  room  for 
the  .slightest  concealment  or  niisai-i-rchension.  Its  mortgages  were 
actually  appraised,  and  notwithstanding  the  declmo  m  the  value 
of  real  estate,  were  found  to  alford  the  most  abundant  security, 
trivinc  evidence  of  remarkable  discernment  and  soundueas  of  judg- 
ment in  selection  from  this  class  of  securities.  As  the  compaiiy  is 
perfectly  sound,  atid  can  afford  to  challenge  criticism,  the  e Meet  of 
the  verj-  thorough  examination  wo  have  made  will  only  be  to  increase 
its  popularity,  and  eonarm  the  confidence  now  reposed  in  its  man- 
agement. Tlie  movement  will  only  serve  to  ..dvertise  the  company 
and  draw  public  attention  to  its  solid  condition. 

Hon.  Wm.  Smyth,  Insurance  Superintendent  of  New  York  states : 
"  The  people  m.iy  rely  upon  my  report  as  a  faithful  and  complete 
statement  of  the  truth.  A  fortnight  ;vas  spent  ui  the  examination, 
but  the  facilities  afforded  by  the  excellent  system  of  the  company 
enabled  the  examitiers  to  prosecute  their  labors  Y^'^^jrt*?: 
Everything  was  at  hand,  and  nothing  omitted  or  sighted.  The 
commiHsioners  went  into  the  most  minute  detads,  a.  d  every 
particular  was  verified.  The  assets  were  rather  under  than 
overestimated.  Their  investments  arc  in  the  most  compact  form, 
and  unexceptionally  good.  All  their  mortgages  were  aPP^aised 
and  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  these  securities  had 
suffered  no  depreciation  in  value.  A  "i-^st^rfyj^fement  seems 
to  have  presided  over  these  investments.  I  /^el  that  1  have 
reason  to  congratulate  the  life  insurance  »nt««Bt  on  the  stnctness 
of  the  investigation,  because  it  has  demonstrated  the  integnty  and 
solid  strength  of  this  sterling  old  life  corporation. 

Office,  MiMls  Dep't,  Drexel  Bnilfling,  cor.Wall  &BroatSts.  H.  W.  BALDWIN,  snpi 


¥     6  56 


rn 


■^ 


NEW    VORK. 


263  Broadway,  N.  Y. 

'urplus,  $800,000.00. 

JWMENT    FOLIOIES    ISSOED. 

1  Claims  due  In  1.878  will  be 

.  on  presentation. 

,L,  Pres't.      T.  H.  BROSNAN,  Sup't. 

OF  THIS  COMPANY  AKK  I 

enUnminerality  to  He  Insured. 

t;SU&A»CS  C0UUISSI0HEB3. 
winner  for  Jlsissachusettfl,  Bays : 
.)  TO  TiiK  CH)UE  and  in  a  very 
No  life  comp.iny  in  thiscoun- 
3  thorough  and  Rovere  Rcrutiny. 
its  policy  liabilities  and  agency 
ito  dctiiil'  whicli  ktftuo  room  for 
rchension.  Its  mortgages  were 
nding  the  decline  in  the  value 
d  the  most  abundant  security, 
ernment  and  Koundue&s  of  judg- 
securities.  As  the  compiiuy  is 
hallenge  criticism,  the  ell'ect  of 
ive  made  will  only  be  to  increase 
idence  now  reposed  in  its  man- 
serve  to  iidvertise  the  company 
id  condition." 

rintcndent  of  New  York,  states : 
port  as  a  faithful  and  complete 
xt  was  spent  in  the  examination, 
xcellent  system  of  the  company 
ite  their  labors  with  rapidity, 
liing  omitted  or  slighted.  The 
)8t  minute  details,  and  every 
sets  were  rather  under  than 
1  arc  in  the  most  compact  form, 
tieir  mortgages  were  appraised, 
i  find  that  these  securities  had 
A  masterly  judgment  seems 
estraents.  I  feel  that  I  have 
iirance  interest  on  the  strictness 
1  demonstrated  the  integrity  and 
fe  corporation." 

&  Broad  Sts.   H.  W.BALDWIN, 


:Li 


^. 


fi'*.' 


X 


.* 


■muitmjiimi,iJ.mir^issM^^s0-*,!i': 


